


Silent Tears

by SilentWolf76



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Coma, Depression, Feels, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Sad conversations, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 64,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentWolf76/pseuds/SilentWolf76
Summary: England has been in a depression for a while, and Italy is the first nation to notice. Now he, along with the help of others, must help England out of it before it's too late...However, secrets are revealed about other countries, and the situation becomes a lot more complicated than it was before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is an angsty England story, which contains depression, self-harm and possibly suicide. If you don’t wanna read it, then don’t. No-one’s gonna force ya. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

England looked out the window, not focusing on the world meeting, or more, complete and utter chaos, around him. He frankly didn’t care about the world anymore. Mostly because the world didn’t care about _him_. And he didn’t just mean the world, he meant the countries as well. Or, the _personified_ countries.

They didn’t care about him. Everyone left him. He was worthless, useless, pathetic and grumpy. He didn’t deserve to live in this world, desperately clinging to anyone around him, only to be pushed away.

This sort of thinking wasn’t making England any better. _I guess it’s what I get for being alive..._ Sighing, England dragged his dull gaze over the rest of the people at the meeting. Everyone was with someone else, whether they were fighting or talking. Japan and Greece were talking, or more, Japan was trying to persuade to wake up and pay attention to the world around him. Switzerland was fighting with Austria over who could save more money, but Switzerland shut him up when he pulled out a hand-gun and pointed it at Austria, disabling the safety. But that wasn’t the point.

Everyone in the room had at least _one_ other person who liked them.

Everyone in the room had at least _one_ friend.

Except England.

His heart hurt now. Probably from the all the depressing emotions and thoughts. He wanted to disappear from the face of the earth – not that anyone would notice. They’d most likely be _glad_ if he disappeared forever. They were probably hoping this every time they saw him.

Feeling even worse, England laid his head on the table, eyes staring blankly at the table top. _Why do I have to be nearly immortal? It’s horrible. I just want to die. Why is that so hard to ask?_

Then he felt a hard poke on the top of his head. Groaning, he looked up and saw America, standing there with an angry look on his face.

“Dude, for the love of God, _listen_ when I’m talking! Are you deaf, old man? You sure act like it. Anyway, you just missed my entire speech, and I ain’t repeating it to you. Next time, _pay attention_.” Satisfied with his mini-rant, America turned on his heel and walked away to talk to Canada and Cuba.

England felt tears prick his eyes. But he couldn’t cry. Not in front of all these people. They’d tease him. So he blinked the tears away so he could cry later, when he was alone. No-one ever realised this was what he did when he got home. Well, crying and something else that he’d never show or tell _anyone_ about. Not that they would care.

Finally, England heard Germany call the meeting to an end. _Thank God for that, I can finally go home._ He thought tiredly, standing and walking out. He had a headache, and felt deprived of energy. But that was because he hadn’t been eating. Whenever he’d eat something, the bad memories and the sad thoughts would come, and he wouldn’t be able to hold his food. So he just gave up on eating. He barely drank anything, either. In fact, the only thing he drank was tea, and that was because it was relaxing and he didn’t throw it up. If only he could drown in tea, or drink so much he gets an incurable illness and dies from it. Unfortunately, he couldn’t die. He was a country. Countries can’t die.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realise he’d bumped into Germany. Germany shot him a stern glare. “Watch where you’re going.” He snapped, looming over the Brit. Apologizing quickly, England walked round him and picked up the pace, heading to his place. Luckily, the meeting had been held in his country (why anyone would want to go to _his_ house, he didn’t know), so it wasn’t too hard to arrive at his nearest house (he had quite a lot in his country).

Unlocking the door, he stepped inside and pulled it shut, not bothering to lock it. Dropping his bag off in his study, England headed towards the kitchen to pour himself a cup of tea. He was exhausted from travelling as there was barely any energy in his body.

As he sat down in an armchair and sipped his scalding hot tea, his mind trailed to the meeting. The only time anyone had talked to him was to have a go at him for something. America and Germany were the last to say anything. France had called him ‘black sheep of Europe’ again, and various other countries had called him names. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. His brothers, Ireland, Scotland and Wales, knew when he had a world meeting, and since he represented the UK, they always wanted to know what had been said in the meeting. But it was never in person – which was a good thing. No, they texted him or rang him, demanding to know what had gone off in the meeting so they felt connected to the world.

England was dreading this, as he hadn’t been paying attention to the meeting. His brothers, especially Scotland, would flip at this, and give him a mouthful of verbal abuse. But England was used to his brothers’ verbal abuse, and tried to block it out, tried to ignore it, but it sank in. After all, everything everyone said to him was true.

Then he snapped. The urge became too strong, and he put the tea down, only half-full now, and walked upstairs to his bedroom. He sat on the edge of his bed, and opened the top drawer on his bedside table. It held a single, razor-sharp knife. His hand hesitated over the weapon. Should he do it? His mind underwent a mini-battle with itself as England tried to decide. Then he made his mind up.

He grabbed the knife, and took it out the drawer.

Rolling up his sleeve, England held the knife to his pale skin. It was already covered with scars, some from wars but most self-inflicted. He thought of all the people who made him feel worthless.

Scotland. _Cut_. A few drops of blood slipped out the wound. But it wasn’t enough. He barely felt that one. The only way to deal with this horrible life was pain or death. And one wasn’t an option, so he chose pain.

Ireland. _Cut._ Wales. _Cut._ France. _Cut._ America. _Cut._ Germany. _Cut_.

England couldn’t think of any more people in that category at that moment, so he moved on to all his former colonies.

America (again). _Cut._ Canada. _Cut._ Hong Kong. _Cut._ New Zealand. _Cut_. Australia. _Cut_. Seychelles. _Cut_. Sealand. _Cut._ India. _Cut._ Wy. _Cut_. He was aware that two of them were micronations, but that didn’t mean it didn’t upset him when they left him.

England’s arm was coated with blood now. He felt the pain, but only smirked at it. But then his smirk faded as he heard footsteps running upstairs. Was it his brothers? Or America? Whoever it was, he couldn’t let them see what he was doing. Hastily, he chucked the knife in the drawer and slammed it shut, rolling down his sleeves as well. He was just in time, because someone barged into his room.

It wasn’t any of his brothers.

It wasn’t America.

…

It was Italy.

Incredulous, England asked, “Italy? What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry for barging in, ve~. I just wanted to apologize for everyone’s behaviour today. I know it’s not them apologizing but at least-”

“You don’t need to apologize for them, Italy. It won’t change anything.” England sighed. Why was Italy here? Why was he apologizing for everyone? No-one cared about him, so what was Italy doing here?

* * *

~Just before~

Italy walked up to England’s house, and was surprised to find it unlocked. Confused, he opened the door and stepped inside. It was deadly silent. But then Italy heard a noise. It was quiet, but the silence around the house made it echo. It sounded like skin being sliced. He couldn’t explain the sound, but knew it was bad. So he followed the sound, which was repeating itself over and over, and soon came to England’s room. While coming up the stairs, the slicing sound stopped and he heard a clatter, as if England didn’t want him to see something. Concerned, Italy pushed open the door, or more, flung it open, and spotted England sitting on a bed. He looked shocked, but soon enough sadness filled his eyes and he looked away. Italy came closer and England spoke.

He asked what Italy was doing there. Italy had felt guilty at the way everyone in the meeting room had treated England, and wanted to apologize on behalf of them, since they probably wouldn’t do it themselves. So Italy began to explain, but was interrupted by England. What he said surprised Italy. It was as if England was used to it, but still got hurt by it. How long had it been going on for?

Italy came closer and sat next to England on the edge of the bed. He took in England’s appearance. He was even paler than usual, his eyes seemingly dull and almost lifeless, as if he had given up on life. He had such a sad expression on his face. But it was worse than simple sadness. It reminded Italy of depression – wait. Did England have depression? The Brit was thin and gaunt. It looked like he hadn’t eaten lately. Bags hung under his eyes. How had Italy not noticed any of this lately?

Edging closer, Italy asked, “Have you been eating lately?” When he got no reply, he got more worried. “England? Answer me…please? Arturo?” England tensed up and looked at the Italian at hearing the nickname Italy used for him. Italy used such a soft tone that England almost told him. Almost. Instead, he looked away, facing the wall. This move alone answered Italy’s question. He jumped up from the bed. “Oh my god, you haven’t! When was the last time you ate something?”

England let out a sigh of defeat. He racked his brain, trying to remember. “Let’s see… I think it was about…a month ago or something? I can’t remember much. If I was human, I’d be dead by now. But of course, the stupid immortality thing got in the way of _that_.”

Italy’s eyes widened (and opened) in shock. He hadn’t eaten for a month?! No wonder he looked so pale, and thin. Then his gaze travelled down to England’s arms. He was holding them carefully, as if there was something on them. Then he saw the slight bit of blood seeping through the sleeve material. _Don’t tell me…_ Italy thought in horror.

In a swift move, he jumped forward and pulled back England’s sleeve forcefully, causing him to hiss in pain.

What Italy saw chilled him through to the bone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England tells Italy a story about his brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know the story is terrible, but I thought of the ending before I wrote the start so I thought ‘hey, might as well make a story that has that ending’. I don’t know if it was a cliffhanger before, it probably was a terrible ending, but hey, it’s me after all. It’s kinda turning into an EnglandXItaly, but I didn’t mean for that to happen. Trust me on that one. Right, my randomness over. Enjoy~
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Italy couldn’t say anything. He just stared in shock at the sight of England’s arms. They were covered in cuts, some old and some fresh, and Italy counted fifteen that were still leaking blood. England hastily tried to cover them, but Italy held a hand out and touched him lightly on the arm. England stopped what he was doing and stared at Italy.

Italy felt tears well up in his eyes. “A-Arturo, why?” He stuttered over his words, a lump rising in his throat.

England turned away. “Because of _them_ , Feli.” Italy blinked in surprise at the use of his shortened human name. Usually England only used it when he was _really_ upset about something. He edged closer, and realised how _cold_ England felt. As if he were barely alive.

“Because of who?” He shook his friend’s shoulder. “Who, Arturo?”

“Everyone, all right!” He suddenly broke down. Italy had never seen him as bad as this. He turned the Brit round and hugged him. “They hate me…my brothers…my colonies – no, _former_ colonies… _why does everyone hate me_?!” He choked out between sobs.

“I don’t hate you, Arturo. I never have. In fact, I doubt _anyone_ hates you! Especially not your brothers. I mean, I haven’t met them, but why would your _brothers_ hate you?” Italy tried to reassure him.

England looked up, and Italy’s heart wrenched at the sight of the island nation looking so upset. “I suppose I better give you an idea of what they used to do, so you’ll understand.”

Taking a deep breath, England began to explain in great detail one of his early memories of his brothers.

* * *

 

_~Start of memory~_

_Young England walked through over the hill, nearing a forest. He wore a long cloak that fell to his knees and no matter how many times he tried to put the hood up, the wind blew it back down. People had been chasing him, and he didn’t understand why. What was wrong with him? All he knew was that his name was England, whatever that meant. Sometimes, people called him ‘Arthur Kirkland’. He aged a lot slower than other boys, and didn’t understand_ why _. He needed someone to explain it to him._

_But no-one ever did._

_Instead, they chased him, hurting him both physically and mentally. And a bit emotionally as well. All he wanted was to live a normal life, to fit in with the crowd. He was small, he was young, and he was lost in this cold world. He just needed someone to be_ there _for him, to comfort him and protect him from the mean people that chased him._

_But there was never anyone there._

_When he’d first come to the world, he’d been surrounded by three people. They claimed to be his brothers, and that he was their little brother. He was so happy when he was with them. They told him that their names were Scotland, Wales and Ireland. He thought they were odd names, but then again,_ he _had a weird name. They had took him in, cared for him, and he had felt so_ loved _. But that all changed when he grew up a bit more._

 _He looked around eight, and his brothers had stopped picking him up. They’d stopped letting him hug them, and instead pushed him away. They’d stopped taking care of his injuries when he got hurt and instead left him to take care of them himself. They’d stopped making him feel_ loved _._

_So, now England looked around nine, he’d ran away from his brothers, trying to survive a life out in the countryside. They’d gotten meaner lately and even used violence on him sometimes. They were picking on him. They never treated him care or love anymore. Instead, they treated him with anger and scorn._

_Scared, England tensed up when he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, Artie, ye here, lad?” He called in a thick, Scottish accent. Swallowing, England made a run for it, hoping that he could lose them in the forest. Noticing movement, Scotland had ran after him, followed by Wales and Ireland. They were furious with England because he’d tried to escape them. He was something they could vent their anger onto. They’d raised him, so he should give them some respect. Running away was the complete opposite of respect._

_England tripped over a root and fell over, dirtying his cloak. Scotland was closing the gap between them, and he could hear Wales and Ireland cursing at him in their own languages. Getting to his feet, his stomach turned ice cold as Scotland rounded the corner. Grinning, the Scot slowed to a walk and headed towards the terrified Brit._

_Frantically, England tried to climb the nearest tree, and was nearly at the lowest branch when he felt a sharp tug at his leg. He lost his footing and fell with a yelp, landing awkwardly on his right ankle. Wincing, he crumpled to the ground, his ankle suddenly unable to hold his weight._

_“What do ye think yer doin’, runnin’ away an’ all that?” Scotland asked threateningly, picking England up by the collar of his cloak so he was dangling._

_“Can’t…breathe…put…me…down…” England gasped out, struggling for breath as the collar was digging into his throat. It was like being hanged. Scotland dropped him so he landed on his feet. White hot pain shot up his ankle and he hissed in pain, collapsing on the forest floor, clutching his ankle._

_Then Ireland and Wales came, as Scotland far outran them all, and started insulting England. The Brit was used to these sort of comments, and the pain in his ankle only grew worse. Scotland narrowed his eyes at England’s ankle, which was quickly bruising and swelling a little. England was whimpering in fright and pain, and Scotland_ hated _the sound. So he silenced it with one, quick but forceful move._

_He stamped on England’s injured ankle._

_The pain in England’s ankle exploded to an unbearable level, and he couldn’t help screaming in agony before passing out. Before the darkness fully took over, England thought he saw Scotland crouch down beside him, with - concern? – in his eyes. But that couldn’t be right._

_~End of memory~_

* * *

 

Italy sat in silence while he listened to England’s story. He couldn’t believe that his brothers would do something like that. It sounded as if Scotland was the worst, but Italy didn’t ask England.

“So there you have it. Only _one_ of my many, many _wonderful_ memories with my brothers.” He said sarcastically. “They were horrible. Really, they were. They still are, actually. But I rarely see them. Not that I’m complaining, of course. They usually have a go at me over the phone.” Then panic suddenly descended in the Brit’s eyes. “Please, promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’ve told you? Or what you’ve seen?” Italy nodded in understanding. But someone had to know other than him. What good could a cowardly Italian, known for surrendering and getting easily scared, do to help a depressed friend?

“I promise, Arturo. I won’t tell a soul, unless you want me to.” Italy promised.

Arthur nodded. “You should go, Feli. If Germany knew you were here, he’d probably assume the worst and try to kill me.”

Italy turned and walked out the room, but before he left, he turned back and said seriously, “Remember this, England. You may think you’re alone, but you’re not. Sometimes people treat someone they love harshly because they’re too scared to admit their feelings. And even if they don’t love you, you aren’t completely alone. You’ve got those magical friends of yours, haven’t you? And I’m your friend, right?” England looked rather shocked at this. He’d never heard the Italian so serious. “Never forget that. So the next time I see you, I don’t want to see any more cuts on your arms, okay?” England nodded slightly, hanging his head in guilt after hearing Italy’s words.

Then Italy walked out the room, not noticing the shadow leaning on the wall, listening to the entire conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone unexpected comes to help England out once Italy leaves. He hates the fact that England's afraid of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

The man’s head was filling with thoughts as he listened to England’s retelling of the memory. If only he knew the full story…

Suddenly, he heard footsteps, and shrank into the shadow of the wall, as the lighting in the hall was dim. He saw the Italian exit the room and walk downstairs. Then he heard the front door opening and shutting, and knew Italy had left.

Taking a deep breath, the man walked into England’s room.

England was about to get changed when he heard someone come into the room. Not looking up, he asked, “Did you forget something, Italy?”

“I’m not little Italy, laddie.” A gruff voice replied. England’s stomach turned to ice at the sound of the voice. _It couldn’t be_ … he thought in dread, before raising his gaze to stare at his older brother, maroon hair and all.

“Wh-what are y-you doing here, S-Scotland?” England couldn’t keep the stammer out of his voice. Scotland secretly felt his heart sink a bit at hearing the fear present in his little brother’s voice.

England knew that Scotland only came round to borrow money, start a fight or punish him for not doing something right. So when Scotland suddenly walked in, England knew he was in a tight spot. Had someone told his brother that he hadn’t been paying attention in the meeting? That was bad. But England didn’t say anything, and instead waited for Scotland’s response.

“What, can’t I visit my little brother now and again anymore?” He retorted a little colder than he meant to. England flinched, but remained silent. Scotland heard the entire thing, and he now knew that the rest of the world was giving England a hard time. But he couldn’t act too suspicious, so instead he decided to do what he normally does, just without the physical abuse this time. “Come on, you know you secretly like my visits.” He said, slinging an arm round England’s shoulders. England whimpered, thinking that Scotland was going to smack him or try and strangle him or something.

Scotland inwardly winced as he heard England whimper. The conversation was so awkward and the tension was so thick that it was almost hard to breathe. Sighing, Scotland stood up straight and looked down, about to tell England what really happened in the memory he told Italy about, but it died on his tongue.

“I-I guess y-you want the r-report from the m-meeting, don’t you?” England asked. Scotland snapped his head back to stare at England’s face. He cowered slightly, before hurriedly saying, “I’m so s-sorry Scotland, I-I wasn’t p-paying attention at the m-meeting, p-please forgive m-me, I w-won’t do it a-again!” By now England was on his knees, begging for forgiveness at something Scotland didn’t even know about. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, though. And seeing. Because he hadn’t been paying attention during a meeting, he was nearly crying just because Scotland was at his house. This completely destroyed Scotland’s heart, knowing that his brother was absolutely terrified of him.

“Calm down, laddie.” He said, crouching down besides the Brit. “I only came to check on you ‘cause apparently you’ve been acting strange lately.”

England looked up in shock. _Is my brother actually_ worried _about me? No, that can’t be right. No-one cares about me. Especially not Scotland._

Scotland was tempted to yank England’ sleeves up and demand an explanation from him, even though he’d already heard one from Italy and England’s conversation. But he held back, knowing that it would only upset his little brother more if he had to reveal his thoughts and feelings to Allistor, of all people. So instead, he decided to be hard on him, knowing that Arthur could _never_ know how he really felt about the Brit.

“So, your not gonna tell me?” He tsked, and stood up. “Don’t cry, little bro. It makes you look weak.” Scotland began to walk away when he felt a tug on his trousers. Looking down, he saw England.

“Scotland, wait! I-I need to tell you something!” He called desperately. _Is he finally gonna tell me?_ Scotland thought as he watched England get to his feet, though swaying slightly. Scotland narrowed his eyes suspiciously. _Is he swaying from blood loss or something?_ His suspicions only grew as he just noticed the little blotches of red on the Brit’s sleeves. _Of course. He must have been cutting not long before that blasted Italian arrived. Then again, I’m glad Italy was here. England wouldn’t have stopped for me. But he did for Italy._ Then a thought crossed the Scot’s mind. _Does England trust Italy more than me?_ He snapped out of his thoughts as England began falling forward.

Thankful of his reflexes kicking in, Scotland rushed forward and caught his little brother before he fell to the floor. He was unconscious, and pale. Well, paler than usual. Concerned, he carried his brother’s limp body carefully to his bed, and frowned when he noticed the flecks of blood on the edge of the bed.

Making sure England was comfortable, Scotland inspected the blood closer. It was definitely fresh, and looked like it had fallen from something. Scotland then turned back to England, and gently rolled his sleeves up. Sure enough, his little brother had been cutting. They were still bleeding, and Scotland could see scars of old ones. _How long has this been going? That doesn’t matter at the moment. I’ve got to clean these wounds so they don’t get infected. No way is my brother getting ill while I’m here._ Scotland walked out the room to look for some disinfectant and wet cloth.

* * *

 

England, however, was just waking up from his fainting. _What…happened?_ His mind asked, still groggy after fainting. _Ugh, my head hurts._ He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt so heavy. So he kept his eyes shut, hoping that Scotland had already left. He wouldn’t care. But just before he fell fully unconscious, why did he feel strong arms around him? England shook his head weakly, thinking that he had been hallucinating or something. No-one would catch him if he fell. So if he suddenly dropped dead, no-one would be there to save him. He was alone.

But then he remembered Italy. The worried Italian had come round to his house just to _apologize_ on behalf of _other_ people. England still couldn’t believe that. It was as if Italy… _cared_. No, he didn’t care. Why would he, after all?

England was drawn out of his miserable thoughts by a stinging pain in his wrists. Flinching, he cracked open his eyes, to reveal Scotland, cleaning the wounds on his arms. Incredulous, he shut his eyes again, before opening them again, wondering if he was seeing things. But no, Scotland was there, helping him with the cuts on his arm. It was as if he… _cared_. No, that was impossible. Of all people, Scotland hated him the most. So why was he helping him? England was surprised the Scot wasn’t taking advantage of him in his weakened state. He had mostly collapsed from blood loss, but it was also because of hunger, exhaustion, depression and energy loss.

Sighing, England relaxed a bit as the stinging disappeared from his arm. He closed his eyes and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Scotland saw England wake up, and then go right back to sleep. Shaking his head, he continued cleaning the Brit’s wounds. Finally done, he admired his work. It wasn’t pretty, not even close, in fact the sight sickened him a bit, but at least he knew his brother was safe from dying from blood loss. Nations couldn’t die, but if they lost too much blood they had a high risk of falling into a long coma. Scotland wouldn’t know what to do if England slipped into a coma. Not only would he have a risk of never waking up, but it might even put Scotland into a depression himself. Also, he knew that England represented the UK, and did most of the paperwork involving all of them, as well as the paperwork for his own country, not to mention all the meetings and various events that required the presence of the UK.

Guilty about the entire thing, blaming himself as well, Scotland held England’s hand softly. England never saw the nice side of Scotland, as usually he was-

He was snapped out of his thoughts when England opened his eyes again. That sleep didn’t last long. Wincing, he tried to sit up, but Scotland restrained him to the bed. “No, you don’t. You ain’t going that easily.” England stopped fighting his brother and lay still, staring at him instead. “You’re not strong enough to walk around.” Scotland gave him a look which meant not to try escaping, but it was harsher than intended. England visibly flinched again and looked away. Scotland felt a fresh wave of guilt pass through him at this. _He’s still scared of me,_ he thought sadly.

“Hey England, why didn’t you tell me about all this? I could have helped you.” Scotland asked curiously. But England didn’t reply. Instead, he kept glancing at his bedside table until Scotland, out of exasperation at England’s lack of response, stood up and opened the top cupboard forcefully, nearly breaking it. Then he saw a bloodied knife, hastily thrown back into the cupboard, and a folded piece of paper underneath, which was slightly stained with blood. Curious, Scotland picked up the paper and unfolded it. It had a list of names on it, and Scotland realised with dread that his was the first name on the list. Fearing the true meaning behind the list, Scotland held it out to England, who looked down guiltily.

“What is this, little bro?” Scotland glared angrily at England.

Sighing, England began. “It’s a…special list of mine. When I cut, I make a cut for each name on that list. I’ve memorised it, so I could chuck it away, but I keep it in case I need to add any more names.” Scotland froze at his explanation. So if his name was at the top, then that meant…

“So, when you start… _cutting_ , you start with my name?” England slowly nodded. Scotland’s eyes widened, feeling even worse than before.

He didn’t say anything after that. He just turned, and ran out the room, tears threatening to spill from the strong nation’s eyes. Running out the front door, he stopped and leaned against the wall. After getting his breath back, he dialled a number on his phone. _Please pick up, please pick up…_ he thought worriedly.

“Yeah? Is that you, Scotland? What’s up?” The voice on the other end asked.

“We’ve got a problem. Get over to England’s house _right now.”_ Not waiting for an answer, he hung up, and sighed heavily. Then he dialled a different number into his phone and waited for the other person to pick up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I wonder who the people Scotland’s calling are. Oooooh… Anyway, sorry if Scotland was OOC, but in other stories he’s usually a complete bully to England. The truth (or at least, my version of the truth) will be revealed in later chapters (much later, probably).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Scotland paced England’s living room anxiously. He’d called two people about two hours ago, and they hadn’t shown up yet. Where they even gonna come? He wasn’t sure, and this was making him more stressed. He _needed_ them here, so they could help save England from whatever darkness he’d fallen under.

England was still asleep as far as Scotland knew, and he’d confiscated the knife from the Brit’s room.

He was close to giving up when he heard the doorbell ring. His hopes rose sky-high as the Scot rushed to the front door and opened it. There, stood two men, looking a bit wet as it had started raining (as usual).

“I hope this is important, Scotland. I have work to do, and I’m falling behind as it is.” The reddish-blonde man complained.

“Aye, it’s very important laddie.” Scotland replied, letting them in.

“Is something up with England?” The other man said, dumping his coat on the coat rack.

“Aye, I guess you could say that.” He sighed before continuing. “I think he’s got depression.” The second man’s eyes widened. “Sorry for calling you when you’re working Wales, but this is more important than that, right?” Scotland addressed the first man, who went by the name Wales. Then he turned to the other man. “Did you have much work to do, Ireland?” When the other man, Ireland, shook his head, Scotland nodded. “Right, I’ll tell you both the story, okay?” Taking a deep breath, Scotland told his two brothers everything he’d heard from the conversation with England and Italy, unaware that someone was listening in.

* * *

 

Italy had gone to a nearby restaurant for some pasta (luckily served at an Italian restaurant and not a British restaurant), before deciding to go check on England one more time before heading back to the hotel to prepare to leave.

So when he’d arrived at the front door, he saw it slightly ajar, and voices inside. He eavesdropped, and narrowed his eyes angrily (which was rare for him) at hearing one of the people retelling his conversation with England. Italy knew it was _definitely_ not England, so had there been someone listening in? Italy stood in silence until the person inside was done talking. Then he walked in, determined to find out _who_ had _dared_ to discuss such an important matter without Italy’s (and probably England’s) consent.

* * *

 

At the same time, England woke up, and realised that Scotland was no longer by his bedside. _Was it all just a dream?_ He thought as he sat up. _Of course, it had to be. There’s no way_ Scotland _would_ ever _take care of_ me. Standing up, he walked out the room and headed to the stairs, fancying some Earl Grey tea. He made sure he’d covered his arms as well, and thought that he was alone in his house until he heard voices. Well, it was mostly one, but there were two other voices mixed in. The voice that did the most talking sounded Scottish, while the other two sounded Irish and Welsh. _It couldn’t be!_ England thought in shock and recognition. _Of course. If Scotland really was here, he’d invite Ireland and Wales as well to tease me in horrible ways…_ he was about to head back into his room when a sentence caught his attention.

“And then I saw horrible marks down his arms. He’d done it himself as well.” England froze. Scotland had to talking about him, but why? Why would he think that Ireland and Wales would care? Then again, why would Scotland care enough to even bother explaining it all to them?

Shaking his head, England didn’t feel like any Earl Grey anymore. So he just went back to his room and locked the door from the inside, so he’d be safe from his brothers. Hopefully.

Ireland sat in shock after hearing Scotland’s explanation for what was going. He didn’t _want_ to believe that. Scotland had said that apparently all of England’s brothers and colonies were on the ‘cut list’, as the Scot called it, along with many others. But Ireland had to make sure.

“Scotland, show me the list.” Ireland demanded in a stern voice, which was unlike him. Nodding, Scotland handed it over, and Ireland scanned it. His eyes widened and he felt guilty as he saw that his name was second on the list, even though Wales was meaner to England. _What did I do that was so bad that I landed second on this horrible list?_ Then it dawned him. _I declared my independence. But that obviously wasn’t enough._ But then he remembered something that happened quite a lot. Whenever they all went over to ‘visit’ England, and Scotland and sometimes Wales got violent, Ireland would hang back, because he never really wanted to hurt his little brother. But, when Scotland and Wales had finished, and they left the place they were at, Ireland always had the option to either leave his brother in the dirt or help him.

And Ireland always chose to leave him.

A huge wave of guilt crashed over the Irishman, and he nearly drowned in remorse. He was one of the reasons England was in this depression.

Silently, Ireland handed the list back to Scotland. After that, a heavy silence fell over the brothers.

“You had no right to tell them that.” A voice broke the silence, and someone walked into the room. The three nations stared at the new person, studying him. He was a brunette, with hazel eyes. Italy. “That was a private, personal conversation between me and England only. Not only were you eavesdropping, but I’m sure Arturo wouldn’t appreciate you telling other people about… _that_.” Italy scolded, slightly protective of his friend.

“Who are you?” Ireland asked suspiciously, as he didn’t see Italy often. But Italy wasn’t the same cheerful self as he usually was. He’d changed, and didn’t want these people around anymore.

“That is none of your business. Leave now.” Scotland heard the venom in the Italian’s voice, as was taken aback. Whenever he’d met Italy, he’d always been happy and got scared by the littlest things.

“Listen here, Italy. We happen to be his brothers, so we can stay. We have a right to help him.” Scotland replied coldly. Italy’s eyes widened at this.

“Y-you’re Arturo’s brothers? No…no…” Italy stammered, taking a step back. “YOU’RE MONSTERS! GO AWAY! LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Italy yelled, forgetting that the rest of England’s house was silent, so loud noises would echo around the house.

“Italy? Of course, now I remember you.” Ireland clicked his fingers as he remembered. “Also, you haven’t heard the full story of that memory that Arthur told you about. If you would let me expla-”

“NO!” Italy interrupted. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care about the full story; I’ve heard enough of it to know that you people are heartless monsters. Arturo won’t want to see you anyway.”

Wales suddenly stood up and silently headed towards the base of the stairs. Halfway up the stairs, he said over his shoulder, “Let’s see if he wants to see his brothers or not.” Then he continued walking up the stairs. Ireland got up and followed him, Scotland not far behind. Angrily, Italy stormed after them, although his rage was slowly ebbing away from him and he was returning to his normal self.

Realising that the door was locked from the inside, Wales knocked at the door to England’s room. “England?” He waited, but there was no reply. “Arthur?” No response. Slightly worried, Wales continued. “Arthur, it’s me, Wales. Please, unlock the door.” There was still no reply, but Wales could hear movement from inside. Maybe England was unlocking the door? But instead, Wales saw a piece of paper slip under the door. Curious, he picked it up, his brothers and Italy now beside him.

He perused the paper, and read the words that had been hastily scribbled onto it. ‘ _Go away. I don’t want to see any of you at the moment. If it’s money you want, there’s some in my study. But you’re not coming in here.’_ Silently, Wales let the others read the note, before Scotland took a course of action that he often used.

Scotland angrily kicked the door down, clean of its hinges. Inside, a very surprised England was sat in a dark corner of his room, the light off. Italy pushed past them and crouched beside England. Patting his back, he whispered reassurance into England’s ear, trying to get him to stand up without force. He disapproved of Scotland’s method of opening doors. England had his knees tucked up to his chest, his forehead leaning on his knees as his chin dug into his chest. Scotland stalked up to him and shoved Italy away from the Brit.

“Oi, England, what do you think you’re doing, hiding away like that?” Scotland snapped. “It won’t do you any good, retreating like that. Relax, little bro, I called them to help you. I can’t help you by myself.” His voice was stern but his expression was soft. If England actually noticed it. But instead, he only hid his face further.

Scotland knelt down beside England and lightly shook his shoulders. “England? Arthur? What’s up?”

England mumbled something inaudible, so Scotland asked him to repeat it. Slightly louder, England repeated, “You took my knife away. Can I have it back?” Italy’s breath caught in his throat at hearing this. _Arturo actually_ wanted _his knife back?_ He jumped closer to England, and swept England’s bangs out of his eyes.

“No, Arturo. I…I don’t want you near a sharp object at the moment.” Italy’s voice shook. England glanced up, emerald meeting hazel. The sadness in England’s eyes made Italy’s heart wrench.

“Please Feli, I _need_ it.” England begged.

“What do you need it for?” Italy asked, though he already knew the answer.

England licked his lips nervously. “T-to end it all.” Suddenly, England leapt at Scotland, knocking him forcefully to the ground. Ireland and Wales tried to get close, but they kept catching themselves on the flailing Scot’s limbs as he tried to wrestle the Brit off of him. England suddenly reached into Scotland’s pocket, which showed that there was something in it, and pulled out his ‘beloved’ knife.

Before anyone could react, England plunged the knife into his abdomen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not Hetalia

~England’s POV~

I didn’t want them here. Italy’s nice, I have to admit, but my brothers sure as heck aren’t. Damn, I just want them to _leave_. Is that so hard to ask? And why were they treating me so gently? Oh right, I know. Whenever I was weakened in the past, they would build me back up just to knock me down again. Why should this time be any different? Well, this time, I _am_ worse than usual, but still! I expect no more from my brothers. I’ve just got to wait for it. It’ll no doubt come soon. The insults. The shoves.

But I don’t want this. I don’t _want_ them to insult me. I don’t _want_ them to shove me. But it’s become normal, a routine of sorts. Then a thought crossed my mind. What if I-? No, I don’t have the guts. Then again…okay, I’ll do it. Why should a worthless, useless waste of space like me hang around any longer? My very existence must make their noses wrinkle in disgust.

After I’d asked Scotland for my knife, and Italy stepped in, I guessed I shouldn’t hide my intentions. I told him I _needed_ the knife. I _needed_ it. So Italy had, of course, asked why, and I’d told him the truth. If I was going to die, there’s no point keeping it from him. Problem is, I’m a nation. I’m nearly immortal. I can’t die unless my country dissolves or is completely destroyed. But hopefully, if I lose enough blood (enough that it should kill a mortal man), then it would put me in a coma, that hopefully I won’t ever wake up from.

So I’d leapt forward, tackling Scotland and desperately searching for my knife. I found it fairly easily, and I jumped off him slightly, before quickly making up my mind where to strike. I wouldn’t be able to get to my wrists in time, or my throat, so I settled on the closest thing to my shaking hands.

Making up my mind to strike there, I’d plunged my knife into my abdomen, wincing as powerful waves of pain shot up my body from that area. Wincing, I let go of the knife and fell backwards, fighting against the pain. I wanted to stay awake long enough to ask my brothers to end it. I’m sure they want to do that anyway. Then they can split my land between them – they’ve always wanted to, it’s obvious.

So as I lay on my back, I noticed my wardrobe wasn’t too far away. I kept something under there, something precious. Something I need, as I don’t have the strength to use the knife still stuck in my abdomen.

Reaching out, I grasped the hilt of the dagger that lay under my wardrobe (in case of emergencies). Swiftly, I shot my hand back to my side and decided on my next target. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I readied the dagger.

Then I lowered my arm at a fast pace, as if my arm was going limp.

The dagger raced towards the area…

…closer and closer…

…then it cut through my clothes and tore through my skin…

…heading down until it struck…

…my heart.

After that, my body went limp and everything around me faded to black.

* * *

 

~Normal POV~

Italy watched in horror as England stabbed his abdomen, before falling back. He hadn’t fully registered this when England reached for something under his wardrobe, and pulling out a dagger, stabbed his chest, before going limp.

It took a few minutes for Italy to finally understand what happened. Scotland was still on the floor, frozen. Wales’ eyes widened in shock, and he found himself unable to blink. There was one person that recovered quickly enough, though.

But not quick enough, obviously.

Ireland rushed to England’s side after the second stabbing, yelling out his name as if it was all just a dream. A hallucination. A figment of his imagination.

But it wasn’t.

England had really…done it.

Shaking his brother’s shoulder, he paled at the large amount of blood pooling around the Brit. _Of course, he’s stabbed himself right in the heart. A mortal would be dead after this, so he’ll probably go into a coma. Damn,_ Ireland thought as he checked for other signs of life. Next to no breathing. No pulse. Wait…no, a _very_ faint pulse. That was slowing down every second. Cursing under his breath, Ireland added pressure to the two wounds, trying to slow down, if not stop, the bleeding. But it was to no avail, and he only got his hands bloody. He couldn’t do this on his own. He needed help. If England was going to survive this, or at least, reduce the risk of a long coma, then he needed immediate medical attention. _Obviously, the three frozen lumps in the room can’t help,_ Ireland thought angrily. _I’ll have to snap them out of it myself. Great._

Still adding pressure to the wounds, Ireland snapped, “You idiots! Get a hold of yourselves! Help your brother!”

Shaking his head, Wales blinked and the next second, he was beside the unconscious Brit, trying to wake him up. The he rushed over to the bed and ripped the quilt off, before running back and pressing the quilt to the wounds. They soon turned red with blood, and Ireland and Wales had to keep changing the quilt to a different area to use. But the bleeding just wouldn’t stop.

Scotland was by them now, shaking England’s shoulders and yelling at him to wake up.

“There aren’t any clean parts of the quilt left!”

“Use something else!”

“It doesn’t matter! The bleeding won’t stop!”

“It has to stop! We’re losing him!”

“What else can we do?!”

“Someone, call an ambulance!”

“Italy, call an ambulance! Quick!”

The British Isles stared at Italy expectantly after they freaked out a bit, and the Italian immediately dialled the number on his phone. After asking for an ambulance, it didn’t take long for it to come, and England’s body was taken away. Scotland had gone in the ambulance with him, not taking no for an answer from the paramedics, and the other three had to drive in a car, following them to the hospital. But they knew they couldn’t go see England right away, and had hung back for half an hour or so. Then Ireland, Wales and Italy rushed into the hospital, demanding to know where Arthur Kirkland was (they had to use his human name).

Finally, after taking many wrong turns, they saw Scotland just outside a room, sitting in a seat with his head in his hands. Ireland ran over to him, trying to comfort the Scot. He was surprised to find that Scotland was crying. Scotland never cried unless something was deadly serious. Ireland soothed him, though his voice was shaking and kept cracking, until Wales and Italy sat in the chairs beside Scotland.

“How is he?” Wales asked nervously.

Scotland looked up and stared at his brother silently. After a short while, he murmured, “He-he’s…” But he couldn’t finish the sentence and broke down crying again. Ireland embraced him in a hug, trying to calm him down.

Taking a deep breath, Scotland declared in a shaky voice something that everyone was dreading to hear.

“He’s in a coma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HAHAHAHAHA! I keep putting you guys on cliffhangers! *Hides behind sofa as bricks and various objects are thrown* Please don’t kill me! I just love writing cliffhangers, especially when I myself have absolutely no clue what’s gonna happen in the next chapter! Yep, that’s my life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Ireland froze after hearing those words. He physically couldn’t move, and his mind had pulled a blank on him. Before he registered what was happening, his body suddenly ripped away from Scotland and ran into England’s room.

Then he saw a sight he wished he’d never saw.

England, AKA Arthur, AKA his little brother, was laid in a hospital bed with a heart monitor and a breathing checker. Tubes ran into his arm, and his eyes were closed. Ireland sucked in a breath after realising he’d stopped breathing at the sight.

In a split second, the Irishman was perched at the edge of the bed, taking a better look at his brother. Wales soon rushed in, followed by Italy. Scotland walked in slowly, as if unwilling to rest his gaze upon England again.

Ireland gently held his brother’s hand, tears brimming in his eyes. Wales sat in a chair next to England’s bed in silence, and Italy murmured a weak ‘Arturo’ before crumpling to his knees and breaking down crying. Scotland crouched down, trying to comfort the Mediterranean nation. And all Ireland could do was hold his brother’s hand, hoping – no, praying – that it was all just a dream. It was then that he realised how exhausted he was. And the bed was actually quite comfortable…before the Irishman could think anymore, he fell asleep, the last noise he heard being Italy’s crying and the beep of the machines.

* * *

 

~Time Skip~

Ireland blinked his eyes open tiredly. He’d at first had a horrible nightmare, but then it had turned into a sweet dream. The nightmare had been about his brother falling into a coma after a suicide attempt…but as Ireland looked at his surroundings, he knew that it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real life. A real nightmare, one which he was stuck in for god-knows-how-long. Growling in frustration, Ireland spotted England in front of him, and he was in a…chair? When did he get in the chair? _Scotland or Wales must have moved me to the chair while I was asleep. After all, I was sat on England’s bed._ He thought before taking one long, sad look at the Brit. He felt guilty for the entire thing. If he’d only helped England when Scotland and Wales were mean, if _he’d_ never been mean in the first place, then England wouldn’t be in a coma, with a possibility of never waking up.

_I have to tell someone._

One thought crossed through Ireland’s mind, followed by others.

_The rest of the world needs to know._

_Especially those close to England._

_We can’t keep it a secret._

_We need help._

Ireland made up his mind to tell some countries at the next meeting, taking England’s place as the representative of the UK. _Would Scotland and Wales want to come as well? Probably. I won’t be able to tell other nations without them anyway._ Taking a deep breath, Ireland stood up, ignoring the complaints from his stiff legs, and sighed at England.

“Please, promise me you won’t stay in this coma forever. Or for a long time. Please wake up. And I know you haven’t been asleep for long, but I want it to stay that way. I want you to wake up, England. _We_ want you to. So please wake up soon, okay?” He hesitated before adding, “Arthur Kirkland, my wonderful little brother.” With that, he walked out the room, heading out to check for the next meeting.

* * *

 

~At England’s house~

Ireland walked in, not surprised to find the front door unlocked and slightly ajar. He immediately saw his other two brothers in the lounge, with Italy in an armchair, head in his hands, much like Scotland outside England’s room at the hospital.

“I’m back.” Ireland declared as he walked into the lounge, catching the attention of the three nations.

“Took you long enough.” Scotland mumbled. “You do know you fell asleep, right?”

Ireland nodded. “Yeah.” He fell silent after that, and no-one else spoke.

Suddenly, all at once, the four countries said in perfect unison, “We have to tell someone at the next meeting.” They all stared in shock at each other.

Wales forced a faint laugh. “So, it seems we all have the same idea.”

“Ve~, I guess so.” Italy replied in a tired tone, although he had the energy to say his famous ‘ve~’.

“Alright laddies, when’s the next meeting?” Scotland asked, raking his gaze over the others. Wales and Ireland shrugged.

“I know.” Italy piped up. The three looked at him. “It’s in three days, in my country. In Rome. It’s only a G8 meeting, though.” Scotland nodded and stood up.

“Right well, I might as well go to see him before we have to go.” Scotland said before heading over to the front door. Over his shoulder, he added, “What? We all represent the UK, so we’re all going.” Then he walked out. Wales quickly understood, and followed the Scot. Ireland glanced at Italy, before beckoning him and walking after his brothers.

* * *

 

~Back at the hospital~

Scotland sat by the chair in England’s room, staring intently at his brother, as if looks alone could wake him up. Wales had gone to the café in the hospital, looking for some coffee or hot chocolate, and Italy and Ireland hung back near the door, giving the Scot some space.

* * *

 

~Three days later~

Ireland, Wales and Scotland walked up to the huge doors of the meeting house. It was a very grand place, and looked beautiful from the outside. Whether or not it was beautiful on the _inside_ , was a different matter.

But as the three brothers walked in, they were surprised to find that the interior was just as pretty as the exterior. To put it simply, they were in awe.

Italy noticed the three brothers walk in, and rushed over to greet them. “Ciao! I’m glad you could all make it, ve~” (Ciao is Italian for hello)

Wales nodded. “Yeah. Nice place, this. Are all meeting places like this?”

Italy shrugged. “Sometimes. I know France’s is nice, but I think there’s too many roses.”

“Can’t argue with that. That rose-loving French bas-” Wales was cut off by the start of a rant by a certain blonde walking in.

“Guten Tag, Italy.” (Guten Tag is German for good day) Germany said in a gruff voice, before resting his icy gaze on the brothers. “Who are you?”

“I’m Scotland, this is Wales, and this is Ireland.” Scotland replied in a cold tone. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. Just that I haven’t seen you around.” With that, the tall German walked past them, heading towards the meeting room.

“Come on, let’s get good seats, sì?” (Sì is Italian for yes) Italy beckoned them into the room that Germany had just entered, and they followed silently.

Soon, the room began to fill up with nations. Although there weren’t many, since it was only a G8 meeting. And apparently, China had decided to tag along, mostly because Russia had literally dragged him into the meeting room, saying that ‘he needs to keep an eye on China’.

“Alright, dudes, ready to start?” America shouted loudly.

“Hai, America-san.” Japan piped up.

“Can I start?” Italy asked.

“Sure, Italy!” America sat down and allowed the Italian to speak.

“Ciao! I’m sure you know, but this G8 meeting is held in my country, in my capital, as well! I hope you like this place! Anyway, there are three people filling in for Ar- I mean, England, as he is…ill.” Italy couldn’t bring himself to say ‘coma’.

America’s eyes narrowed. “What’s up with him? Poisoned himself from too much tea?” France laughed at this, and they started a conversation about how stupid the Brit is, despite the fact that Scotland could hear _everything_ they were saying. And he didn’t like it one bit.

“Shut up! You don’t know anything!” Scotland snapped at them.

France raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I know you. Scotland, wasn’t it? You’re Angleterre’s brother, aren’t you? Tell me, did he actually poison himself with tea overdose?”

“No, he didn’t.” Ireland replied quietly. France glared at him. But Ireland continued. “He tried to kill himself. He’s in a coma at a hospital in his country.”

France’s eye widened, as did America’s. Germany heard what Ireland said, and walked over. “Sure. I bet he’s just being a coward and using you people to cover for him. Pathetic. Why don’t we go over there after the meeting and show him that cowardice will be punished?” He suggested with an evil smirk.

“Yeah, he’ll never know what hit him.” America agreed, before turning to the brothers. “I’m sorry you had to cover for that whiny limey, but don’t worry, we’ll give him a piece of our mind.”

“Are you listening to me? If you aren’t, then you become best friends with Russian water pipe, da?” Russia threatened in his sweet yet pure terrifying way.

“Actually, Russia, we’re planning on kicking England’s ass after the meeting. You wanna come? You can bring your pipe, if you want.” America offered, avoiding Russia’s question.

Russia’s face lit up with a sadistic smile. “I’m in, da. England gets to meet my pipe and become best friends! Then he will finally get his first friend! Unless he’s still friends with those imaginary friends of his.”

Ireland listened to this with incredulity and fury. _This is serious, and they’re talking about beating him up?!_ Growling and cursing under his breath, the Irishman clenched his fists, knowing that if this meeting took too long, he’d most likely end up killing one of the nations in here. Gritting his teeth, he hoped it would finish soon.

* * *

 

~Japan’s POV~

I sat down, glancing around the room at the other nations. Everything was normal – except one thing.

England was missing.

This surprised me, as England never missed a meeting unless he was seriously ill. He would come, even when everyone was horrible to him. I am probably the only person who’s nice to him. I heard that his brothers were horrible to him when he was little, and they still pushed him round now. Italy is the only other person I can think of who isn’t mean to England, but he agrees with what the others say because he’s scared to disagree. Kind of like me, I guess.

But then I saw three strangers, sat where England would usually sit, except there were three seats there, instead of one. I decided that at the end of the meeting, I’d go over and ask them who they are and where England is.

* * *

 

~Time Skip (still Japan’s POV) ~

Finally, it’s over! It took two hours later than it should have, and the questions about Asa’s disappearance were bugging me. I walked over to the three strangers, and tapped the smallest’s shoulder.

Turning round, he asked what I wanted. Taking a deep breath, I began. “I noticed that England-san wasn’t in the meeting today. Is there any reason? He never misses a meeting, so this is most peculiar. I am worried about him. Also, who are you three? I am Japan, although you can call me by my human name if you want. My human name is Kiku Honda.”

The smallest nodded. “Okay, Kiku. I am Ireland, this is Wales, and this is Scotland.” He introduced, pointing in turn at the two others. “We’re brothers of England’s. Are you a friend of Arthur’s?”

“Hai.”

The man called Wales stepped forward. “I’ll be blunt, because sometimes Ireland adds too much detail. Arthur tried to kill himself, and he ended up in a coma, in a hospital back in his country.”

I stared in shock. “No way…” I murmured in disbelief.

“It’s true.” The tallest, Scotland, nodded sadly. “Gotta feel bad for him.”

I swallowed nervously, scared of what the brothers would say to my next question. “Can you take me to visit him?”

Now it was their turn to stare. “R-really? Wait, are you gonna do something bad to him?” Ireland narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

I shook my head. “No, don’t worry. I would like to see him, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No, not at all! Sure, we’ll take you to see him.” Ireland agreed.

I clapped my hands together. “Wonderful! Well, it’s not really wonderful, but still, thank you so much, Ireland-san, Wales-san and Scotland-san.” I bowed my head and followed them out.

I couldn’t wait to see him.

I missed Asa-san.

I missed him so much it was as if I…

…

…

…loved him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It sounded like AsaKiku, but don't worry, it'll all be explained in later chapters.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Walking along the hospital corridor, Japan barely supressed a shiver. Hospitals were so full of death, illness and suffering that you could almost _smell_ it. And Japan didn’t like that smell. It creeped him out, to be honest. And that sounds mean, but it’s true. It’s why he avoids them as much as he can.

But now he was going to visit a friend of his, who was put through all this suffering and illness, and only added to the almost present smell that chilled people through to the bone.

Japan mentally shook his head. He didn’t have time to think about these things; he had more important things to do.

Suddenly, the figure in front of him stopped, and Japan nearly crashed into him.

“Alright, this is the room.” Scotland mumbled to Japan, before opening the door. Ireland and Wales stepped aside, letting Scotland and Japan enter first. But as Japan entered, he was struck with horror.

Never had he seen Arthur Kirkland, the personification of England, looking so weak. _Never_.

So it was a big shock to see said person hooked up to machines, eyes shut and looking half-dead.

Or more, it was a big shock to see said person looking so _peaceful_. Usually the Brit would be miserable – grumpy – and would be shouting at everyone around him that he didn’t like. Well, that’s what Japan saw most of the time. But when it was just them two, the Asian man was surprised how kind England could really be.

A memory flashed in Japan’s mind as he remembered the time when England tried to make new friends. He had shied away from Japan, as he was an eastern country, and they had both thoughts that they couldn’t be friends because of the whole western/eastern thing.

Then England and Japan had hung out for a little while, and got to know each other. They actually got along pretty well, and wanted to be friends and maybe even make an alliance.

However, Japan’s boss had got in the way, and had told him to be friends with Russia instead. But that didn’t work very well, and Japan preferred England’s company to Russia’s.

So, one day, Japan had gone to look for England to talk to him, and had eventually found him on a hill, staring at the stars. Japan had apologized and explained to the Brit about his boss and Russia, and had even added that he wanted to be friends with the western nation, no matter the differences. England had looked quite happy, to say the least, and they just gazed at each other for about a minute or so. _England looks a bit mysterious, but also fairly handsome, I guess,_ Japan had thought, internally blushing at the thought. But he kept his cool, and soon England was randomly shouting at him.

But after that, Japan began to look at the Brit in a different light, and soon enough, he’d developed small feelings towards England. After that, they blossomed into a crush of sorts, but Japan always denied it or brushed it aside.

Japan didn’t realise that he was faintly smiling at the memory in the present until the quick flashback ended, and he was back in the hospital room. His smile immediately faded. _Maybe I could have stopped this,_ he thought grimly, _if I’d told him how I feel towards him, then he might’ve felt loved. Then he wouldn’t’ve done this. Too late now, I guess._

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Scotland spoke up. “Do you need any alone time?”

Japan nodded slowly, face not betraying any emotions as usual. He preferred to hide his emotions, rather than show them, and over time, he found it hard to show them. So he’d struggled a bit when Greece tried to make him angry one time, but he’d done it in the end.

The Japanese man watched as Scotland left the room, closing the door behind him, as Ireland and Wales hadn’t come in yet.

Sighing, Japan walked over to the bed and sat down on the chair nearest England’s head. He sat there for a while, in complete silence – except for the beeps of the machines -, before he took a deep breath.

“Hello, England-san.” Simple, and maybe a bit boring, but secretly effective.

* * *

 

~England’s POV~

I stood there, in the darkness, while all around me I could hear noises. I’d always been attentive to noises around me, however small they were, especially after I’d hid from angry villagers and my brothers when I was little.

So now I could hear rhythmic, relaxed beeps of machines, and even the sound of fabric - possibly curtains - blowing in the gentle breeze that came through - presumably - open windows. Just because I could _hear_ things, didn’t mean I knew what they _came_ from.

But then I heard a voice. A familiar one. But it was faint. I tried very hard to listen in, but it sounded a bit distant, and muffled, as if someone were talking quietly on the other side of wherever I was. All I knew was that the voice sounded very Scottish.

Then it struck me. Scotland was here. _But who is he talking to? And_ why _would he be here? Where_ is _here? Where am I?_

I began to panic a little at the thoughts in my head. _That’s right, I don’t know where I am._ I thought, looking pointlessly round, knowing there was only darkness.

But then I heard something that resembled a door closing, and light footsteps heading towards me. I glanced around hopefully, thinking that someone was coming to pull me out of this darkness.

But of course, I saw no-one. Only darkness.

I sighed in defeat, and was about to start walking around the darkness, searching for an exit, when two words spoke up near me. They came from a new speaker, who sounded Japanese. _Could Japan be here? Maybe, but why? Then again, he was never really_ that _mean to me; maybe he likes me as a friend? No, he’s just nice to everyone. He’s just polite._

But at least this voice was easier to understand than before. It was clearer, but softer, and a lot closer, so easier to listen in to. But what I didn’t understand was the words themselves. ‘Hello, England-san’ were the words I’d heard. It was a general, polite greeting, but why was Japan using it? _What’s going on? I’m so confused!_

* * *

 

~Japan’s POV~

I frowned as the words left my mouth. _Why had I said that? Of all the things, it had to be something casual like that, as if we were just meeting up! How very stupid of me!_ I mentally scolded myself. I watched England for any signs of reaction, but he didn’t move an inch. As expected.

Despite the fact they weren’t exactly the best of friends, Japan was still upset by all of this. He hadn’t been told much, only that England had attempted to take his life because he felt unloved, and Ireland had told him this. But this fact alone was enough to make Japan’s heart clench painfully. _England did this because he felt unloved,_ was what Ireland had told him.

Scotland had mentioned depression as well, which confused Japan. Why would someone as strong and powerful as England suffer from depression? This was something Japan didn’t understand. Was it because of the American Revolution? The fact that all his colonies eventually left him?

Shrugging, Japan decided to keep talking to England, hoping beyond hope that the Brit could hear him.

“So, I…er…heard what happened.” He started uncertainly, struggling to word it properly. “I…don’t really understand. If you were…awake, then you could tell me, right?” The Asian nation sighed. “All I’m saying is…don’t stay in this state for too long. Please, wake up soon.” Japan knew he wasn’t good at being emotionally convincing, so when it came to comforting or convincing people by using powerful emotions, it wasn’t his strong suit. At least he’d made an effort, though.

Suddenly, a sentence came into his head. A sentence that he should at least say aloud to England.

And at the same time, England wanted to shout something. Just one little sentence. To Japan. He just wanted to tell Japan _everything_ , but he knew he couldn’t. He was trapped in this seemingly infinite darkness, with no way of getting out. But still, he might as well say it.

So then both Japan and England said their sentences at the same time, although only one would be heard:

“Please, come out of the darkness.”

“Please, save me from the darkness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’ll leave you to guess who said what (even though it’s pretty obvious).
> 
> Also, I know that’s probably not what someone experiences in a coma, but I’ve never been in one so I didn’t know how to write it (and I cba to look it up either).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know I made an error with POVs last chapter, I’ll try and get it right in this chapter.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

There was a moment of silence that passed after the sentences were spoken. Then Japan laughed quietly, but without any positivity in it. “How stupid can I be? I doubt he’ll answer. In fact, he _can’t_ answer.” Sighing, Japan continued. “It’s rare for people to talk in a coma, but since it has happened, I guess I can stay a bit hopeful.” He gazed at England, as if the Brit would suddenly reply.

Meanwhile, England was cursing and swearing loudly to the darkness, absolutely furious that it wouldn’t let him escape. He wanted to answer to Japan, but he knew he couldn’t. England could hear Japan, but Japan couldn’t hear England. That was how it worked now, and it was frustrating.

“Dammit, how can I get out of this place? I-I just want to wake up!” Then he lowered his voice as he contradicted himself slightly. “Or do I? Do I really want to go back to a place where pretty much everyone is horrible to me? I mean, this place is annoying, but at least no-one’s mean to me, I guess.” He hummed thoughtfully as he tried to make a decision.

Whilst England was thinking, Japan got up and walked out, passing Scotland on the way out. Closing the door, Japan sighed heavily, staring up at the ceiling.

“Did you have a bad time in there?” Scotland asked once Japan had done sighing.

“Yes, Scotland-san. It must be horrible for you especially, since you’re his brother.” Japan replied, glancing at the Scot.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Oh.” There was an awkward silence between the two until Japan asked, “Would you like to see him? I can go, if you want.”

“Er…yeah, that would be nice.”

Nodding, Japan walked down the corridor, heading for the exit in complete silence, lost in his own thoughts.

* * *

 

~Scotland’s POV~

I watched the Asian nation leave with sympathy. I knew it must be hard on him to see his friend like that, but it would either be sooner or later that he saw England.

Sighing, I opened the door and walked in, expecting to see the same sight I saw on my last visits. And of course, there was no difference. _If only he knew he was actually loved,_ I thought. _But even if we_ did _tell him, he’d just deny it._

Sitting down in my usual chair, I noticed it was slightly warm. _Japan must have sat here_ , I realised with a soft smile. I gazed at my little brother, willing for his eyes to open. I actually kinda missed those blazing emerald eyes, even if they were usually full of hatred, annoyance and anger whenever they were laid on me. But I didn’t mind. At least England knew I was there, and didn’t completely ignore me.

“So, here we are again.” I sighed and dropped my gaze to the floor. “Can I ask you something?” When I got no reply, I continued anyway. “Do you want to stay asleep or wake up?” Once again, I got no response.

* * *

 

~England’s POV~

I was so lost in thought, I didn’t hear Japan leave. I only noticed when I heard a set of footsteps approach me, and the start of a conversation. It was Scotland, I knew that, and he started off by saying something awkward.

But when he asked me if he could ask me something, he piques my interest and it was no longer awkward. However, the question he asked was very hard to reply to.

‘Do you want to stay asleep or wake up’ was a hard question to answer to, seeing as I’d been thinking about it seconds before. In fact, I still hadn’t made my mind up, and it was starting to bug me.

“How can I answer that? I don’t know, alright? It’s nearly impossible for me to answer that!” I shouted to him, even though he couldn’t hear me.

But now he’d gone silent, as if waiting for my reply. And this was starting to tick me off.

“You never listen! Open your ears! Can’t you hear me? I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW!”

* * *

 

~Scotland’s POV~

I waited quietly for a response I knew would never come, but then something surprised me.

“…Du…no…”

I blinked a couple of times, wondering if I’d gone insane.

“…Du...no…”

My eyes widened and I leant forwards in the chair, wanting to hear it one more time to confirm it.

“…Du…no…”

“My God.” I breathed out, slumping back in the chair. _So he can hear me, understand me, and reply. Interesting._

“So, you don’t know? Well, it’s better than nothing.” I shook my head with a huge smile plastered on my face. _Wait ‘til Wales and Ireland hear about this._ “Do you still drink lots of tea? You know, if you don’t watch how much you drink, you could die from it.”

I smiled to myself after saying this. This would no doubt annoy him. But there was one more thing I had to add to definitely get a response from my little brother. “Also, how come you can’t cook to save your life?”

* * *

 

~England’s POV~

Now I was _really_ mad. Scotland was asking if I still drink tea! Of course I still drink tea – I _am_ British after all. Tea is just a necessity for us Brits.

“Of course I still drink tea, you skirt-wearing idiot.” I snapped back, even though he couldn’t hear me. However, when I’d yelled ‘I don’t know’ three times, he’d reacted as if he’d heard me or something – no, that’s ridiculous. He can’t hear me. Not like this.

Sighing, I listened to what he was saying next. And after hearing what he said, I wanted to kick him. You can’t _die_ from drinking too much _tea_. Does he know anything? And anyway, I don’t drink ‘too much tea’; I drink a healthy amount. For me, anyway.

I was close to yelling at him again when he added something else. How _dare_ that annoying Scot insult my _cooking_!

“SHUT UP!” I yelled, hoping very much that Scotland _could_ hear me. Oh, he was _so_ going to pay when I woke up – wait. _Does that mean I kinda_ want _to wake up? No, that can’t be. There’s so many bad things about the world. There aren’t enough good things for me to return. Or is there?_

 _Hmm…well, let’s wait and find out._ I thought to myself calmly, before closing my eyes albeit seeing no difference in lighting.

* * *

 

~Normal POV~

Scotland waited for the reply of England, not doubting he would get one, even in the Brit’s current state.

“…Sh…ut…up…” He faintly heard escape England’s mouth, and he smiled gently. _I expected no less from him._ He thought, gazing at his little brother in pride that he’d managed to irritate the Brit even when he was in a coma.

The Scottish nation raised his head to stare unfocused at the ceiling. “Well…hopefully this means he’s making progress. I mean, life isn’t the same without getting yelled at by a tea-loving Brit.” He lowered his head and leant closer to England to murmur in his ear, “I miss you, little bro. Please, wake up soon.”

On that note, Scotland fell asleep, head resting right next to England’s head.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

When Scotland woke up, the events of earlier popped up in his mind. He hoped that no-one else heard what he said, as it was very uncharacteristic of him to say stuff like that. However, he _did_ hope that England heard what he said.

Sighing, Scotland glanced at his watch and realised he’d been asleep only half an hour. _Well, at least I wasn’t out that long,_ he thought, _after all, there’s all that work to do…_

Groaning aloud at the thought of work, the Scot rose from his chair and walked out silently. _I’ve got to tell Ireland and Wales about England talking as well…and gloat about it. Finish work, then gloat to them. Yes, that’s a good plan._

As he exited the building, Scotland failed to notice a shadow hiding in the shade of a nearby tree; or rather, hiding _in_ the tree. Well, until it fell out, but the Scottish nation still didn’t see the shadow.

Once the person knew that Scotland had gone far enough, he quick-walked into the hospital and got hopelessly lost along the corridors.

After suffering about twenty minutes of being lost, the person asked a nearby nurse, “Excuse me, but where is Mr Arthur Kirkland’s room?” That was the politest way he’d ever spoken, the person remarked.

The nurse gave him instructions, and he thanked her and followed them, glad that he would arrive shortly.

Finally, after still managing to get lost, the person entered England’s room and shut the door behind him. Taking off his jacket, he laid it over the side of a chair and sat down in it, surprised to find it was still warm. _How long was Scotland in here for?_ He thought curiously.

“So, er…hi.” _Great start,_ he scolded himself. “Can you hear me?” He waved a hand in front of England’s face. He laughed emotionlessly and muttered, “Of course not? How could you? You’re…well…like this, I guess; as a nice way of putting it and all.”

Then the person lowered his voice and leaned closer to the Brit. “You know, can I ask you something? Was-was I one of the main causes of all…this?” He asked uncertainly, struggling to form the right words.

* * *

 

~England’s POV~

As I heard Scotland leaving, I opened my eyes again, even though I still saw nothing. Just a dark, empty chasm with no light.

Sighing, I walked round the darkness, uncomfortable with the silence surrounding me.

“Is no-one there?” I called out uncertainly, knowing no-one could hear me. “I guess not. Then again, I hope someone _would_ come. Hell, I’d even be glad to hear America’s voi- no. No, I really wouldn’t.” Sighing again, I stopped walking and sat down. I sat there for what felt like hours, bored out of my mind. I couldn’t sleep here; I could only close my eyes.

Suddenly, the sound of a door opening and closing brought me back to reality – or rather, what was left of it.

But I was filled with relief; I wasn’t alone. There was someone in here with me. Well, there was someone in the _room_ with me, but still.

Then I heard them speak and say a very awkward greeting. Raising an eyebrow, I listened in to what they had to say, trying to connect the voice to a person. It sounded familiar, but unfamiliar at the same time. As if the voice was lacking something.

“Can you hear me?” I heard.

“Yes, I can hear you.” I replied, but the other definitely didn’t hear me.

Then I heard a short, emotionless laugh, as if there was no joy behind it, only sadness. That laugh went with the changed voice, but not with the original – whatever that was. _God, this is confusing!_

“Of course not!” Was his next sentence. “How could you? You’re…well…like this, I guess; as a nice way of putting it.”

Well, _that_ was a bit offensive. I didn’t want to be stuck like _this_ exactly, if he must know. The nerve!

I had to strain my ears for the next part as he lowered his voice. “You know, can I ask you something? Was-was I one of the main causes of all…this?”

I frowned at this. Why would someone ask that? Unless it was… _him_.

“A-America? No way, it can’t be. He hates me, why would he visit me? Ha, I must be going crazy!” I let out a short bark of laughter.

My smile faded as I heard what he next said. “You know, I don’t hate you. I miss you. When I-” He paused for a minute, and I unconsciously leant in, interested in what he had to say. “When I declared my independence, I didn’t want to hurt you. I just wanted to prove to you that I was mature and strong enough to survive in the world. I didn’t mean to upset you or anything; I just wanted to show you that you didn’t need to watch over me. I’m sure other people would have eventually started to fight you for my land, and you would get hurt. I didn’t want that. Do you see where I’m coming from?”

I was completely silent after that. _It really is America after all…no. Other colonies of mine have declared independence. It’s probably someone else._

“Also, if you haven’t figured it out yet, it’s me, America.” _Seriously, can he read my thoughts or something?!_ I thought incredulously. _It’s unbelievable!_

“I don’t have a lot of time left; I’ve got so much stupid paperwork it’s ridiculous, you know? Anyway, I know people have probably said this to you a lot, but, well…wake up soon, will you? We all miss you. No-one was ever mean to you without a good reason to. That’s all I’m gonna say. Bye, England.” With that, I heard America get up and walk away.

After the door opened and closed, I sighed loudly and shook my head. “Well, that was something.” A smile crossed my face. “It seems America _doesn’t_ hate me. That’s a surprise. Hmm.” I glanced up at the darkness above me. “Maybe it _would_ be better if I wake up. I’ll try and be a better person as well. Then I won’t have to resort to that little knife.” I chuckled lightly. “Yes, that’s it. I’ve made up my mind.”

I shouted at the top of my voice, “I’m going to wake up! I’m going to change!”

Satisfied, I sat down cross-legged and repeated those two sentences in my head over and over.

I also noticed that the darkness lifted slightly, and I could see the faint outlines of my hands. Even the damned darkness couldn’t keep me back now.

* * *

 

~Normal POV~

America walked out the hospital, relishing in the fresh air. Hospitals made him feel uncomfortable, as he was surrounded by suffering people. He never really liked being in them.

Walking down the street, he lost himself in his thoughts. _I can’t believe I finally said all that to him. I just hope he heard it._

Suddenly, as he was passing the entrance to a dark alley, a hand grabbed his sleeve and yanked him sideways into the alley.

Expecting an attack, America swung his leg out at his ‘attacker’, knocking them off balance.

He leapt at them, pinning the stranger down.

“Oi!” The stranger yelled angrily. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

America’s eyes widened in surprise and he let the person get up. “Scotland? What are you doing here? I thought you went somewhere?”

Scotland glared at him. “I was going to do some work, but I decided to wait for you to get out the hospital.”

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess. But why would you want to wait for me?”

Scotland smirked at this. “To tell you something.”

America raised an eyebrow. Why couldn’t Scotland just tell him instead of being vague? “And what is that?”

“England talked to me.”

America gasped in shock. _How is that possible? And how come he didn’t say anything to me? That’s not fair!_ “How? Why? What did he say? Tell me!” He demanded.

Scotland shook his head. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“No, you tell me right now!”

Scotland smirked, turned round and ran off.

“Stupid Scot.” America mumbled under his breath, before walking out the alley. _Well, at least I know that England can talk. That’s an improvement at least. I hope, anyway._

As he was walking, America raised his head upwards and gazed at the clear sky. _I have a feeling that he’ll wake up soon._

With that, America carried on walking, heading for the airport to board a plane back to America. Th journey would take about 8 hours, so he might as well get a good seat.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

America waited impatiently at the airport, hopping from foot to foot while he waited for his plane to arrive. He was pretty ticked off at Scotland. _First he tackles me into an alley, then he says something important, then he just becomes vague! Couldn’t he of just answered me like a normal person would?_ Then a new thought entered his mind. _Should I really leave for America now? If Scotland can get that tea-loving dude to talk, then I’m sure I can!_

Reaching into his pocket, the American pulled out his phone. Dialling a number, he held the device up to his ear and waited for the person to pick up.

“What?” The person on the other end sounded annoyed.

America smirked. “Look dude, just saying I’m gonna bunk with you for a couple of weeks, okay? Thanks.” Without waiting for a reply, he hung up.

He turned and started walking towards the exit. The North American nation supressed a laugh at the idea of _him_ playing a host.

It was then that America realised he had absolutely _no clue_ where the person’s house was. Dialling the same number into his phone, it didn’t take long for the other person to pick up.

“America you have no right to declare yourself staying over at my house-” The person started ranting, but was cut off by America.

“Whoa dude, calm down! Look, where’s your house? Oh! I know! I’ll wait here and you come pick me up!”

The other person spluttered slightly on the other end. “ _Excuse me?!_ How dare you! I don’t even know where ‘here’ is, you cheeky bugger!”

America chuckled. “I’m at the airport. Now hurry up; I’m waiting.”

“Why you-”

“Less chatting, more driving. I’m not known for my patience.”

“That’s the sort of thing a villain would say.”

America looked shocked. “I’m not a villain! I’m a hero!”

He could practically _feel_ the other man raise his eyebrow. “Oh? Then fly over here then if you’re a ‘hero’.”

America pouted. “My flight abilities unlock when I reach one thousand points.”

“It’s not a game, you know.”

“The game of life.”

“If I’m driving, I can’t be on the phone. Therefore, I’m hanging up.”

“Okay then! Just don’t take too long!” America said cheerfully as heard the beep from the other end. _It’s_ so _fun to annoy that guy!_ The American nation thought as he sat down on a bench, waiting for his ride.

* * *

 

~At the hospital~

The door to England’s room opened quietly as someone walked in. They sat down in a chair beside the Brit’s bed, and sighed as they looked down at the unconscious nation.

“Ah – I finally got here.” They said. “Honestly, look what you’ve done to yourself, Angleterre.”

* * *

 

~England’s POV~

 _Did that person just say ‘Angleterre’? And that voice – oh god, not_ him. _I thought as I came to the conclusion of who was visiting me._

“Go away, frog!” I yelled, even though he couldn’t hear me. I _really_ didn’t want France to see me like this, but I guess there was nothing I could do about it.

“You know, mon petite lapin, I have every right to have my revenge on you.”

“For what? What the hell have I done to him?”

As if he could hear me, the idiot sniffled as if he was crying. “You’re always so mean to me. All I want to do is make friends with you, but you push me away. How rude. How mean. How _cruel_.”

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.” I grumbled under my breath. “ _I’m_ mean to him? Tch. He teases me all the time! _He’s_ in the wrong. _I’m_ the innocent one here.” But I only half-believed that. I had done some horrible things to him. Things that I didn’t want to remember.

There was silence for a little bit, before France murmured, his voice sounding close to my ear, “You know, Angleterre, you’re quite pretty when you’re asleep. You’re not scowling, you’re just…peaceful.”

 _Oh god, what’s he going to do now?_ “Leave my body alone, France!” Did I just say that? I frowned. How weird it felt to say that, as if I were a spirit, separate from my body.

Then I heard a light laugh. “I’m only joking, mon ami. I won’t do anything to you; don’t worry.”

Honestly, it was like he could hear me or something. But I highly doubted that. That thing with Scotland was only pure luck. Nothing more.

“Hang on. Did he call me ‘mon ami’? Doesn’t that mean ‘my friend’ in his language or something? That’s confusing. Usually he says ‘my little rabbit’ or ‘my dear’ in French, but not ‘my friend’. How strange.” I wondered aloud.

“I’ll have to ask him about it when I wake up.” I froze. Did I just say that? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to wake up. Just to ask France that. Then I could go back to sleep. No, who am I kidding. That’s not possible. If I tried to ‘go to sleep’ like this again, I’m sure I’d be locked in a room, guarded by Scotland or something.” I chuckled at the thought.

“Maybe waking up wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.” I murmured to the darkness. “But I don’t know if just deciding will actually wake me up.” I shrugged. I suddenly realised how often I think aloud instead of just silently thinking.

Then I heard a pair of footsteps.

“France? What are you doing here?”

“Hmm?”

 _What’s going on? Who’s that?_ The voice was too far away and quiet for me to distinguish who it belonged to.

“Oh! Ireland! What a pleasant surprise!”

_Ireland? What’s he doing here?_

“I came to see my brother.” He stated in a quiet voice. “Now I ask you again: what are you doing here?”

France chuckled. “I just came to see Angleterre. Don’t worry; I haven’t done anything bad to him. Why would I do that if he’s so weakened?”

“Shut up, frog! I’m not weak!” I yelled angrily. _How_ dare _he call me weak!_

“Mm.” Ireland replied nonverbally. I heard him sit down and sigh heavily.

“What’s wrong, Irlande?” France asked.

“I’ve just been talking with the doctor.”

_What about?_

“What about?” _Frog, stop voicing my thoughts._

“About when he thinks Arthur will wake up.”

France sucked in a breath, letting it out through his teeth. I hummed thoughtfully, not making a comment.

“And?”

“About two weeks, he predicts. He should be dead, but thanks to our wonderful healing abilities, the wound closed itself up before his body ‘died’. Then he would be stuck in his mind forever, even after his body would have been declared dead and been buried.” Ireland explained.

_Great, so I’ve got two weeks to make up my mind. Stay asleep or wake up?_

“Two weeks? That’s not so bad. But it’ll probably feel like a long time, won’t it?”

Ireland sighed again. “Yeah.”

A silence fell upon us.

 _Well,_ I thought, _I’ve got some thinking to do._

* * *

 

~At the airport~

A car pulled up just in front of America. The window wound down and the driver said in a stern voice, “Get in.”

Smirking, America got up off the bench and opened the front left door (remember, in England the wheel’s on the right hand side and we drive on the left). He climbed in, sitting down in the passenger seat.

“You sure took your sweet time.” He commented.

“There’s speed limits I’ve got to stick to, I’m afraid. Why, did you miss me?” The person in the driver’s seat turned to face America, grinning.

“Not really, Scotland.”

Scotland chuckled, and started to drive away.

“So, why do you want to stay in the lovely, freezing country of England this fine day? And for a few weeks, as well!” The Scot asked in a sarcastic, mocking voice.

“So when England wakes up, he’ll first lay his eyes open me, the hero!” America puffed out his chest.

Scotland sighed and shook his head. “You and your hero complex.”

“It’s not a complex!” America whined.

“So, how many more points do you need to get to 1000 and unlock your flight abilities?” Scotland asked jokingly.

“Five hundred and twenty-three point two-two-six-five-four-seven!” He declared. (If it’s hard for you to imagine (I know it was hard for me), this is the number in number form: 523.226547)

“Riiight.” Scotland muttered, rolling his eyes. “Also, why did you choose _my_ house to invade? Well, one of my houses. I have a few in England as well as Scotland.” He boasted.

“Er…I chose you because you were the first person I could think of.”

“Nawwww, do you love me that much?” Scotland teased.

America blushed red. “N-no, not in that way!”

Scotland put a hand on America’s shoulder and leant closer, locking eyes with the America. “Oh, come on, you don’t have to lie~”

“I’m not lying!”

“It’s just the two of us in here; you can tell me the truth~”

“Oh my God! The car! We’re gonna crash!”

“FU-!” Scotland swore as he returned his attention back to the wheel.

“Bin!” America shouted.

Scotland swerved to avoid the bin, but swerved too wide.

“Tree!”

Another wide swerve.

“Granny!”

Scotland slammed the brakes on, making the seatbelt rub into his collarbone and shoulder.

Panting, America let out a shaky breath and leant back in the seat. Turning his head to face the Scot, America said, “Remind me never to get in a car with you driving ever again.”

“It’s not my fault! You distracted me!”

“ _I_ distracted you?! You were the one being creepy!”

“It was a joke! Learn to take a joke, man!”

“I can! But that little ‘joke’ nearly got us both killed! And that granny!”

“Don’t call elderly strangers ‘granny’! It’s rude!”

“You’re the worst driver I’ve ever met!”

“I’d like to see _you_ do any better!”

“Alright, shift over then.” America accepted the challenge. Scotland raised an eyebrow before getting out the car and walking round to the passenger seat. America scrambled into the driver’s seat, adjusting it slightly before gripping the steering wheel.

When Scotland was buckled in, America started driving. He swerved back onto the road, driving down it before having to slam his brakes on as a car came racing towards him on the same side of the road he was on.

“Watch where you’re going!” America yelled, rolling down the window.

“Watch where _you’re_ going!” Scotland countered. “You’re driving on the wrong side of the road!”

“No, I’m not! I’m driving on the right – oh.” It was then that the American realised that he was indeed driving on the wrong side of the road.

Scotland smirked. “So, you failed that little challenge, it seems. Let me drive now.”

“No way! I can still ace this!”

“No, don’t you dare start driving!”

Too late. America stepped on the accelerator, shooting down the road. Thank God there weren’t many cars around that day.

“America.” Scotland called in a strangely quiet voice.

“What?”

“ _You’re still driving on the wrong side of the road!”_ The Scot yelled angrily in a loud voice.

“AHH!” America screamed as he just dodged an oncoming car before slowing to a stop.

“Bloody hell. You drive worse than I thought.” Scotland remarked. “You are never going to drive my car again. Scratch that – you’re never going _in_ one of my cars again. Ever. Now I’m going to drive, so get out.”

They quickly changed, and Scotland set off down the _correct_ side of the road, heading to his house.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

~England's POV~

"Okay." I said to myself. "I've got two weeks. Two weeks to think." After a couple of seconds, I let out a loud groan. " _Thinking_ for _two weeks_?! Are you kidding me? Actually, it might not take that long to make my mind up. Let's see."

I started pacing, weighing the pros and cons of waking up. "Hmm…a good point is that I won't be alone. I'll also be able to actually _see_ instead of just black all the time. Bloody darkness."

I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "However, I don't like some people. Well, most people. In fact, there's quite a lot of people I don't like. Huh."

After a few minutes of this, I felt like tearing my hair out. "AGH! I give up! This is impossible! You know what, how about I just wake up and see how it goes? If it gets too much for me, then I'll just return…here…" I trailed off as I realised how I would get 'here'.

"Hmm. Well, no-one's gonna stop me- I did not just." I froze after I said that _word._

"'Gonna' is not proper English. It's 'going to'." I corrected myself. "Thank God no-one heard me. I've been spending way too much with America. It's his fault."

 _I really am going insane,_ I thought to myself. _I'm basically having a conversation with myself._

* * *

~Narrator POV~

It had seemed strange, at first. Walking in to a hospital room and seeing your youngest brother lying in a bed. But after the initial shock, he began to get used to it. He knew Scotland visited as often as he could, and Wales about every two or three days. He, on the other hand, only had time to visit about once or twice a week, due to the fact that his country was on a separate island to the other three.

But once or twice a week was enough for Ireland, considering he usually only saw him for business purposes.

However, when the Irishman visited England, it was usually either alone or with Scotland or Wales.

But opening the door and seeing _France_ was a surprise. He thought France _hated_ England.

After a quick conversation, they both sat either side of the bed on small chairs, locked in their own minds.

_England has two weeks to wake up, but I don't know if he can mentally prolong or shorten that. Let's hope these two weeks go by quickly._

"Hey, France." Ireland broke the silence.

"Oui?" France glanced at him. (Yes in French)

"Do you think he even _wants_ to wake up?"

The Frenchman sighed. "Honestly, I don't know, Irlande. This… _incident_ came as quite a surprise for all of us, I think." He shook his head. "Mon dieu, what was he _thinking_ then?" (Ireland in French and my god in French)

"That's what we'd all like to know." Ireland murmured, before clearing his throat. "Well, I'm going to go get a coffee and try to get some work done."

He stood up and headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, "Bye, France."

"Au revoir, Irlande." France replied, waving at him. (Bye in French)

Under his breath, Ireland added, "Bye, deartháir beag." (Little brother in Irish)

Now France was alone, he glanced at England. "You know; I should be going as well. I only meant to pop in for a little bit." He stood up, and then bent down and murmured in the Brit's ear, "Don't give up on life yet, Angleterre. It's only the 21st century; at least get to the 30th century or something." With that, the Frenchman stood upright, and exited the room, leaving England, who had heard every word, to ask himself one question. _"_ _Have I really given up on life?"_

* * *

~At Scotland's house~

Once Scotland turned into the driveway, he slowed down and started to park the car. Unfortunately, this is hard with another person chirping in your ear constantly.

"Stop dude, you're gonna hit the house!"

"I am _not_ going to hit the house." Was Scotland's gruff reply.

He continued reversing, until America piped up again, "Dude, your bumper's like a trillimetre off the front door!"

"Okay first; what the hell's a 'trillimetre'? And second; the front door's over _there_." The Scot pointed about ten metres or so away from the car to the front door.

"Watch out!" America lunged for the wheel, swerving it to the side and accidentally making the back right side of Scotland's car hit the wall of the house.

The American gulped as he felt like he was suffocating in the murderous aura Scotland was letting off.

Ten minutes later, America was sat on the couch in Scotland's front room, and said nation was towering over him.

"Er…sorry dude." America rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Scotland's eyebrow twitched. "You dent my car, you drove on the wrong side of the road _twice_ , you invite yourself to my house, you nearly kill a granny-"

"Hey! That was you! And I thought you said it was 'rude to call elderly strangers 'granny''."

"Shut it."

"Rude." America mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" Scotland took a threatening step forward.

The American whimpered slightly. "Nothing."

The Scot rolled his eyes. "Anyway, you do all that and all you can say is _sorry_? Tch. That ain't gonna pay for that dent in my car!"

America's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't know you used slang!"

Scotland smiled slightly at this. "Well, England always says that slang is 'butchering his language' and everything, so I use it to annoy him."

"Whoa. I didn't realise this, but you can actually be fun sometimes.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Good. Behave while you're here. Don't raid my fridge, don't beak anything, don't get lost, yada yada yada. You get the idea."

America frowned. "How big is your house?"

"Big."

"Vague."

"Very big."

"Helpful." America muttered sarcastically.

"Do you want a map?" Scotland teased.

"Shut it."

Scotland folded his arms, a menacing aura surrounding him. "Don't tell _me_ to shut up in _my_ house."

"Whatever."

Scotland tsked. "Dumb American."

"Stupid Scot."

" _Excuse me?_ "

America gazed fearfully at the angry Scot in front of him. "Oh God, you're going to kill me."

Scotland grinned evilly. "Damn straight."

The American got up and ran out the room, followed by Scotland.

* * *

~1 hour later~

"Alright, Alfred, bedtime!" Scotland called, as America had hidden from him. He was currently in the kitchen.

"Heroes don't have bedtimes!" Came a close-sounding reply.

"Shut up about the 'hero' thing!"

"Never!"

Scotland swung open a tall cupboard door, revealing a squashed looking America, who currently looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"Oh sh-" He swore, before Scotland grabbed his collar and dragged him out the cupboard and then out the kitchen.

America was dragged all the way into a spare bedroom, where the Scot unceremoniously threw him onto the bed.

"At least let me get changed!" Scotland raised an eyebrow, but turned his back on the American as he stripped down to his boxers, before climbing into the bed and crossing his arms.

Scotland turned back around and sat by the American.

"Hey, Scotland."

"Hmm?"

"What's going to happen with England?"

Scotland shrugged. "God knows. Hopefully, it involves waking up."

"Yeah." America's eyes were downcast. Scotland knew he was sad about this whole thing. They all were.

"Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?" The Scot asked.

"Wha-" But he was cut off as Scotland slammed his head into his chest and started stroking the American's hair. Startled, he started struggling against Scotland's chest.

" _Hush little child, now don't you cry~"_

America stopped struggling, curious as to what the lullaby was.

" _Or I will stab you in the eye~"_

America nearly choked on his saliva.

" _Watch you drown in tears and blood~"_

His sad expression turned to one of horror.

" _I'll just say it's for your own good~"_

He started shaking. Who the hell _made_ this lullaby?

" _Now you know never to cry~"_

America started to struggle again.

" _Next time you will probably die~"_

Scotland gently released America, who shot away from him and nearly fell off the other side of the bed.

"What the hell was that?!" America yelled.

Scotland frowned, not understanding. "What do you mean? It was a lullaby."

"No it wasn't! Hell, if you sung that to a kid, I think they'd have nightmares! Actually, I think _I'm_ gonna have nightmares tonight."

Scotland shrugged. "Oh well."

"My screams will wake you up."

"I'm a heavy sleeper."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Just get out."

"Mkay. Sleep well."

Scotland rose from his spot and headed to the door.

Before he left, America asked, "Why did you use my human name before?"

Scotland glanced at him over his shoulder. "Because."

"Because?"

"Why not." With that, the Scot left, shutting the door behind him, and leaving a furious American in the dark, as he also turned the lights off as he walked out.

* * *

~The next morning~

America slowly cracked his eyes open, feeling exhausted. He'd ended up having nightmares about Scotland after he sung that 'lullaby' to him, so he didn't get much sleep.

But when he did open his eyes, he was met with two piercing green eyes staring into his azure blue ones.

With a surprised yelp, America shot up, and Scotland started laughing. Scowling, America reached for his glasses and put them on.

"Your reaction!" Scotland said between laughs.

"Shut up." Then America snorted. "Even without glasses, your face is still terrifying."

Scotland abruptly stopped laughing. "Hey. That's uncalled for."

"The truth is never uncalled for.

" _Hush little child-"_

"Hell no!" America leapt out the bed and ran out the room, leaving a sniggering Scot.

* * *

~Meanwhile, back at the hospital~

The door to England's room slowly opened, and a person walked in. He shut the door behind him, and made his way over to the bed. He gazed at England's sleeping form for a couple of seconds before sighing and sitting down.

"How could you let yourself get like this, Англия." (I'm not telling you what this means yet)

He shook his head and fiddled with his hands. "You know, we're not so different." He closed his eyes before opening them and continuing, "When the British Empire fell apart, you were distraught, confused and angry. When the Soviet Union fell apart, I was sad, alone and scared. Not to mention how lonely Denmark must have been when the Kalmar Union also fell apart. Us three all have something in common."

He took a deep breath before saying, "We've all had our family torn apart."

The man was silent for a minute, as was England, who had heard everything the man said. _Without a doubt – it's_ him. England thought to himself.

"I know I may come across as creepy and cruel, but I don't mean to. Well, not completely, anyway." Russia gazed out the window. "When the Soviet Union fell apart, I didn't know what to do. I felt like I couldn't trust anyone, and began being threatening towards people. But when I decided to make some friends, I thought that because I was so tall, I might scare people or something like that, so I adopted a childlike smile and soft tone. I hoped it would make me seem sweet and innocent, and overall friendly. But that only made people _more_ scared of me."

The Russian smiled sadly. "I guess my new smile and tone of voice made me seem creepy. That hurts me a lot, for people to say I'm creepy, even when I'm trying my best to be nice and friendly. So after that, I started threatening people again, but trying to keep that smile on my face no matter what. If I looked serious, it might have been worse. But some people called me sadistic for smiling while threatening them. So really, I couldn't win."

He sighed. "But there's something I don't get. Even after the American Revolution, America still hangs around you. Sure, he calls you names and acts like a bully at times, but really, he just wants to prove to you that he can stand on his own two feet. He still regards you in a good light – well, sort of. But still, he doesn't hate you or call you 'creepy'. But that's what everyone's like to me. Except Belarus, but she kind of scares me."

Russia fell silent for a few minutes, before laughing hollowly. "Look at me, the big bad Russian, who's opening his 'cold, empty' heart up to someone who can't even hear me."

He stood up. "I should be off. I don't want anyone to see me here and think I'm trying to hurt you or something." But before he left, he leant in and said in a low voice, "Проснуться, мой друг."

With that, Russia exited the room. England, knowing a bit of Russian, knew what that phrase meant.

Wake up, my friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter could have gone on longer, but I decided to end it on a nice-ish note.
> 
> Also, Англия means 'England' in Russian. I couldn't tell you then, because then it would give away the identity of the 'mysterious' person. 
> 
> Yeah, most of the translations in this chapter were from Google Translate, although I did do most of the French myself.
> 
> And you know Russia? Probably completely OOC, but I don't really like how Russia's always a sadistic bad guy most of the time. This is my interpretation of why he's like how he is now, and yes, I'm aware that he sounded like a bully at the start of the story. But I've been waiting to get to the point where I can explain why he was like that. So…yeah.
> 
> And this is supposed to be a serious story, but when it comes to America and Scotland, I just can't help myself. And that 'lullaby' Scotland sung? I made it up. I'm that scary.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

~One week later~

America had been staying at Scotland's for a week now, and the two were mostly getting on. Scotland had gloated to the American and his own brothers about getting England to talk to him even in his comatose state. He was _very_ proud of it.

They'd been to visit the Brit as much as they could, and they'd received the news from Ireland that England was going to wake up in two weeks. But now one week had passed (slowly if I might add), which meant there was only one left. Seven days. 168 hours. 10080 minutes. Doesn't seem like that long, right?

But of course, time always drags when you're waiting for something important.

Others had been to visit England during that week. His brothers, America, Canada, France, Japan, even China, Italy, and a couple others. No-one knew of Russia's visit yet, and he wanted to keep it that way. Denmark had visited to ask when his 'drinking buddy' would be back to drink with him, and Prussia had pretty much asked the exact same thing.

But one day, something unexpected happened.

Scotland was lounging about in the front room, while America was making himself a coffee, when the doorbell rang suddenly, startling the pair.

Scotland glared at America, telling him with his eyes to go get the door. America couldn't be bothered to argue with him, so he silently left his coffee and walked over to the door.

When he opened it, he was surprised to see Wales and Ireland standing on the doorstep, carrying bags.

"Yo, Scottie! Your bros are here!" America called over his shoulder, earning an angry glare in response at the nickname 'Scottie'.

Ireland sniggered under his breath. Scotland walked over to the door and asked in a dangerous tone, "What's so funny, _Ireland_?"

"'Scottie' kind of suits you. I think I'll start calling you that from now on." Ireland remarked with a smirk.

"Do that and I'll kill you in a painful way, then bring you back to life and kill you painfully again." Scotland threatened.

"Anyway…" America butted in. "What brought you two here?"

"Well, we figured that it would be easier to discuss things if we're all living under the same roof, even if it's only for a few weeks." Wales explained.

"Are you _inviting_ yourself over to _my_ house?" Scotland narrowed his eyes, remembering the fact that America had invited himself over as well.

Ireland rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah…sorry about that. But hey, at least we don't have to arrange times to meet or talk over the phone or anything."

"Hang on." America frowned. "You keep talking about 'discussing things' and 'arranging times to meet'. What are you on about?"

Their expressions saddened, but they didn't answer his question. Instead, Scotland let the two nations in and led them to the front room.

Once they were all sat down (America had got his coffee), Scotland began, "Okay, so I'll start. Basically-"

"Whoa whoa whoa. Stop right there. You never answered my question. You can't expect me to sit here quietly while you have some sort of chat that I have no idea about." America interrupted, folding his arms.

Ireland sighed. "You just don't give up, do you? And anyway, isn't it obvious? This meeting's about England! Mo Dhia, I thought you'd at least get _that_." (Mo Dhia - Irish for 'My God')

America furrowed his brows, confused. "What does 'moh dee-ah' mean?"

Ireland rolled his eyes and ignored him. "Continue, Scotland."

Scotland nodded. "Right. So I was wondering, does England feel lonely?"

"What do you mean?" Wales asked, leaning forward slightly in his spot on the couch.

"Well, he was depressed, we know that much at least. But did he feel lonely at all? I mean, when the British Empire fell, he was completely alone. But does he still feel that loneliness today?"

"Good point. If he felt lonely, that could have led to feeling unwanted and unloved." Ireland reasoned.

"What are you trying to get at here?" America asked.

Scotland glanced at him. "We're trying to get to the root of his depression by trying to figure out all the possibilities where certain events could have contributed to the depression."

"…Right…" America trailed off uncertainly.

Scotland sighed in frustration. "Basically, we're trying to find all the parts that make up England's depression."

"Oh! I get you now!" America's eyes brightened, before he hung his head and added miserably, "I think I know a big part of it."

"And what would that be?" Ireland asked, confused by the American's sudden mood change.

"What if the American Revolution set it off?"

Ireland's eyes flew wide and he demanded, "What the hell are you talking about?! Do you _really_ think that your large-scale rebellion triggered our brother to enter a downwards spiral?!"

America locked eyes with the Irishman. "Of course!" Then his voice and gaze lowered. "I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that he liked me best out of all the other colonies. Not favouritism, though! Well, the way I put it, it kind of is. But what I mean is, he was so nice to me when I was first colonised. But when I began to grow up, he started laying down all these new laws and taxes. It was crazy!"

The American sighed. "And eventually, America decided it didn't want to be under Britain's control anymore. So then the American Revolution happened. And on the final battle, when I won, I left him crying him in the mud. I could _hear_ his heart breaking."

The other nations listened intently to America's story. "I was a bit lost at first, and at times I wished England was there to help me through it, and tell me what I should do next. But I wanted to prove to him that I could stand on my own two feet, and that I was a strong nation, capable of defending itself. So I never asked for help, and I didn't visit for a while."

America glanced at the three European nations, before adding, "Take this example. When a family loses their pet, either because it ran away, went missing or died, they're distraught. You see, a pet is considered a member of the family it belongs to. That is similar to the situation with me and England. When he lost power over me after the revolution, it must have felt like losing a family member."

He smiled sadly. "He must have thought I hated him or something; he never visited. When I was getting on my own two feet, I didn't want to see him. But after that, I just wanted him to acknowledge me as a powerful nation, and make peace with me. But I don't think we've ever completely moved on from the painful memories of the revolution. He could have got depressed from it and hid himself away from the world. And I still hate myself for leaving him in the rain that day, without a word. Not even a proper goodbye."

The room was silent for a few minutes, before Scotland said, "Hey, don't beat yourself up about it. It was a long time ago. But I do understand where you're coming from. And yes, that _could_ have been the triggering point for England's depression, but always bear in mind the possibility that it started _before_ then."

America nodded. "I know." Then he laughed hollowly. "I've just ruined the mood for you all by telling you my miserable story."

"Well, you can't expect us to be cheerful, considering the topic we're discussing." Ireland remarked.

The meeting went on for at least another hour, before the doorbell rang again. This time, Wales, who hadn't spoken much, got up to answer it.

When the door was opened, America nearly choked on his own saliva as he saw who was standing at the door in front of Wales, carrying bags.

"Ah, Wales! We got your message, and came as fast as we could, you know? Nice to see ya, mate!" Came the cheerful voice of Australia as he dropped his bags and caught Wales in a tight hug.

America stood up, running over to the door. "Dude, I didn't know you were coming! You should have told me!"

Australia released Wales, grinning at the sight of his American friend. "I didn't know you were here! Been a while, hasn't it?"

As the two chatted to each other, Australia's companion walked in, exchanging a quick greeting with Wales before walking over to Ireland.

"Did we get the right place?" He asked.

Ireland nodded. "Yeah, don't worry. Glad to see you, New Zealand."

New Zealand smiled and replied, "Yeah. You too."

"…Wales…Ireland…" A sinister voice echoed throughout the room as a dark aura filled the air. "You better tell me _now_ why there's _two more uninvited people_ in _my house."_ Scotland said slowly, with a threatening tone, adding emphasis on a few words.

"Oh, er…well…Australia and New Zealand have ties to England, so we thought it would be a good idea to bring them here." Ireland reasoned nervously.

"A _lot_ of people have ties to England. You didn't invite them _all_ , did you?" Scotland asked in a _very_ intimidating voice.

"No, no! Only a few…others…" The Irishman trailed off as the furious Scot approached him, seemingly a lot taller.

"How many is 'a few others' to you, Ireland?"

"Only Canada, Italy, Japan and France...that's all."

Scotland raised an eyebrow, the menacing aura growing stronger. "And what if they told others, and the others wanted to come? I am _not_ under _any circumstance_ housing fifty or so nations."

"I doubt they'll do that." Ireland replied confidently. "We asked them not to bring anyone else along, nor tell anyone else about coming over. Japan's too polite to go against that, and Canada'll only bring Kumajiro. Italy hopefully won't bring anyone extra – especially not Germany -, but France…"

"No doubt a fight would break out between Germany and Scotland if that happened." Wales remarked under his breath.

Scotland placed a hand on Ireland's shoulder in a vice-like grip. "Well, let's just _hope_ that France _doesn't_ bring anyone else over to _my_ house, okay?" His grip tightened even further with each word he added emphasis on.

Ireland nodded. "Yeah." Deciding to change the subject, he suggested, "Why don't we put our stuff in the spare bedrooms? America's been having one to himself, I presume, but he can share. It's best if no-one shares a bed with you – you kick people out of bed within thirty seconds." He unconsciously rubbed a spot on the small of his back where Scotland had kicked him a good ten metres out of the bed and into a wall.

With that, the group of nations headed upstairs to the spare bedrooms. Luckily, Scotland had calmed down, but was bound to kick off again when the other nations arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm ending the chapter here. Bad opening, bad ending. Oh well.
> 
> This chapter is mostly talking and doesn't technically involve England (they're just talking about him so it doesn't count), but I promise, the next chapter will.
> 
> I suck at explaining things, especially thoughts and feelings, so America's explanation was probably terrible. Sorry about that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

~England's POV~

How long has passed? How should _I_ know? It feels like forever, it feels like seconds. I have no grasp on time at the moment; not when I'm stuck like _this_ anyway. It's like being trapped in a prison with no escape; all you can do is wait for judgement to be made on you. Except, this isn't a prison – it's my…mind? And I'm not waiting for judgement – I'm waiting for my eyes to truly open. I can stare at this darkness around me for as long as I want, but my eyes are still closed.

But when my eyes _do_ open, will I be happy? Will I enjoy life, or hate it? That's the real question.

"Let's see," I mutter to myself, "I had two weeks, apparently. So it definitely hasn't been two weeks. But then, how long _has_ it been?"

Dammit, this is so annoying! I can't do _anything_ here, and now I can't even tell time anymore!

Sighing, I raise my head to gaze at the darkness above me. Somehow, it seems that the darkness has slightly lifted – but that's just ridiculous. How can it get brighter?

"I guess all I can do now is wait. Wait for my stupid body to wake itself up, and…give life another chance. I mean, no two things ever happen exactly the same – there's always slight differences, even if they're only tiny. It still counts." I manage a small smile. How silly of me to speak so deeply when no-one can hear me. But I might as well keep speaking. After all, hearing a voice, even if it's only mine, seems to make the darkness less big.

"So contradicting this statement would go something along the lines of 'toys are made exactly the same'. But actually, they're not. The time they're made is different, the paint might be slightly darker or lighter. They all have different numbers for when they came of the production line, as well." If anyone could hear me, I'm sure they would find it amusing by the fact that I'm having some sort of argument with myself _out loud._

Was it just me, or did the darkness become a tiny bit lighter? Well, I've just got to stay positive. Stay positive, and it gets better.

* * *

~Narrator POV (Scotland's House)~

After an hour and a half, the remaining nations that had yet to arrive at the Scot's house had all come. Scotland was _not_ pleased, to say the least.

It took a further fifteen minutes to get everyone to settle down, sit down and _shut up_. When all three of these things had been done, Ireland began, "Thank you for coming, everyone."

Scotland grumbled something inaudible, to which Ireland merely raised an eyebrow at him and continued. "Now, we have about six days left until England wakes up. We need a plan."

Japan frowned. "Plan? What do you mean, Ireland-san?"

"To help rid him of his depression, of course. You can't just go marching in there and say 'Yo Iggy, nice to see ya. Oh, and get rid of your depression when I click my fingers'."

"Whoa dude, that sounds like hypnotism! Also, I didn't know you called him 'Iggy'. That's what _I_ call him!" America piped up, grinning.

"I don't call him 'Iggy'. I was imitating _you_." Ireland snapped.

America's face fell. "Dude, it's not nice to mock people. It's rude, as well."

Ireland rolled his eyes. "Well, you're just too easy-"

Wales cleared his throat to silence them. "Alright, that's enough. We're getting off topic here-"

But he was cut off as America stood up. "'Too easy'? What's _that_ supposed to mean?" His voice sounded dangerous.

Ireland also stood up. "Exactly that. You're so dumb; it would be a waste _not_ to mock you."

Growling, America clenched his fists. "What is your _problem_ with me, man? I didn't do _anything,_ and you're picking a fight with me!"

Just as Ireland and America were about to hit each other, Australia appeared in between them and slammed his fists onto the top of their heads. He looked angry, his bright smile gone.

Clutching his head, America whined, "Dude, what was _that_ for?"

"Mate, this isn't the time to be fighting. We have more important things to sort out. That goes for you too, Ireland. No fighting. Got it?" Australia scolded with an air of sudden authority, as if he were suddenly the boss.

"Whatever." Ireland mumbled under his breath, but didn't make any move against America. The American hmphed and turned away, sulking.

The Australian's bright, cheery smile returned as he sat down, having sorted the rising problem out by himself, and looking very proud about it, before the main topic caused his smile to fade and his face take on a more serious expression.

"Thank you for that, Australia. I _really_ didn't want to have to take care of those two idiots." Scotland thanked before getting to the topic at hand. "But I have to agree with Ireland."

"Hey! That is _so_ not fair!" America complained, thinking about Ireland's comments of him being 'too easy' and 'dumb'.

"Not _that_!" Scotland snapped, before collecting himself. "We need some sort of strategy that'll help him out of this mental state. Any ideas?"

Canada spoke up then after a moment of silence. "Well, we could make him feel loved."

Everyone stared at him, most in confusion.

"What do you mean? Arturo _is_ loved, isn't he?" Italy frowned.

"Well, me, Scotland, Ireland and America were discussing something earlier – what if England feels lonely, and that's what caused all this?" Wales explained.

"So…to make him feel loved, we need to make sure he doesn't feel lonely?" New Zealand concluded uncertainly.

Canada nodded. "I'd say that's a good start."

"Alright. So we need to make sure he doesn't feel lonely. But I doubt just that will make him feel loved." Ireland tapped his chin thoughtfully. "So…what else?"

"Well," France spoke up for the first time, "to feel loved is to feel like you're worth something to someone. Not just that, but to also feel like you're special to someone. To be surrounded by those who are friendly and compassionate towards you, and to have some degree of peace in the atmosphere…that is what it means to be loved."

The room was quiet for a minute before Japan murmured, "I did not know you knew so much about feeling loved, France-san. It is almost…sad how you know so much."

France looked down and replied in a quiet voice, "I too have had to deal with depression in the past – when I lost Joan d'Arc." The room once again fell into a deathly silence, before the Frenchman forced a smile and said, "But this meeting is not about me. Non, it is about Angleterre. So, how else should we tackle this problem?" (No and England in French)

"Maybe have like…a family reunion or something?" America suggested.

Scotland hummed in consideration. "Yeah…that's a pretty good idea, actually. We usually don't _all_ turn up or just ignore him. I think that a family reunion would be a good starting point in this."

"But Scotland, not all of us here are his family." New Zealand pointed out.

"Well yeah, but…" The Scot trailed off, before an idea struck him. "Why don't we make it a 'family and friends reunion'? You now, so all who were close to him or had connections with him come together?"

"Because that sounds like a funeral." Ireland replied in a monotone voice.

"Yeah man, you could have worded that a bit better." America agreed.

"Sh-shut up!" Scotland snapped, flustered. "What I _meant_ was that anyone who personally knows England can come to the 'reunion'."

"But throwing a family reunion _with_ friends sounds a bit suspicious, especially when no-one's ever really bothered in the past." Canada reasoned. "I think we may have to disguise our true intentions as something else."

"'True intentions'?" Italy frowned at the Canadian.

"Trying to fix his depression." He explained, earning a nod of understanding from the Italian.

"So what do you suggest we do instead, Mattie?" America asked.

Canada shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"What if we make it seem like a party celebrating England-san's recovery?" Japan offered. "After all, he'll have just come out of a coma, so it won't be too suspicious, hopefully."

Scotland groaned and leant back in his seat. "But England's _always_ suspicious."

Ireland raised an eyebrow at him. "Not _always_ , actually. But if he is suspicious, then surely we can say that we were worried about him? I mean, it's not every day someone suddenly tries to commit suicide. We were shocked, and we still are. So using this excuse should clear us of any suspicion."

"Mmm…possibly. It's not a bad idea, to be honest. Yeah, I'm sure he'll buy that. So long as no-one messes up, that is." Australia agreed.

New Zealand nudged him in the stomach with his elbow. "Careful; you'll jinx us."

"Now listen, 'cause this is very important." Scotland got everyone's attention. "During the party, make England feel as loved as possible. Don't forget what we've discussed here, and don't try to annoy him or anything that will cause negative emotions."

After a few responses, he continued, "And the most important thing of all: do _not_ , I repeat, do _not_ invite _any_ unnecessary people. This is _my_ house, and it's already full enough."

"Mkay." America nodded.

"Good. Now I'm going to go get a drink. Everyone, you can go to your rooms or stay in here. Don't raid the fridge, don't destroy the bathroom's plumbing, and don't strip." Scotland bossed around.

Everyone glanced at France at the last part of the sentence, who innocently shrugged and said, "I don't know _what_ he's on about."

After about ten seconds, America shouted, "Scottie! It's coooold! Turn the heating on, will ya?"

Italy turned to the American. "You're allowed to call him 'Scottie'? I thought he wouldn't like that nickname."

America grinned mischievously. "Nah, he loves it! In fact, before you came here, he said that all of you can use it!"

Italy's eyes lit up. "Really? That's great! I think it suits him, anyway."

America whined, "But _seriously_ , why is it so _coooold?"_

"I'm not that cold." Australia commented, then frowned as everyone stared at him incredulously. "What?"

New Zealand placed his hand on Australia's arm, and felt a comforting warmth. He shuffled closer to his neighbour, and smirked as the other countries walked closer. Before long, Australia was surrounded by cold nations trying to warm up.

"Ahhh~" Italy sighed. "You're so warm~"

"Why are you so warm?" America asked.

The Australian shrugged. "I don't know. My country's warm, maybe?"

"Possibly. But whatever the reason, you're a walking furnace, so don't move and I stay warm." New Zealand murmured.

Australia raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Is that so?" He then made a move to get up, accompanied by many objections.

"Don't move!"

"You're the only source of heat here!"

"Stop! You're letting the draught in!"

"What draught?!" Australia cried.

Scotland then chose that moment to walk in, and his face took on an expression that said 'what the _f*ck_ are you doing'. The first thing he saw was Australia half-sat, half-stood, while the other nations tried to drag him back down onto the couch he was sat on. It actually reminded the Scot of a poor soul being dragged into the underworld.

Australia noticed Scotland staring and yelled, "Oi! Nice timing, mate! I'm drowning in people here; can you help me?"

Scotland approached the nations and attempted to get the nearest nation, who happened to be America, away from the Australian.

The American hissed like he'd been revealed to sunlight after a few days of complete darkness. "Nooooo! Stay away, ice demon! Australia is the only thing that thaws us out!"

"'Ice demon'? What's _that_ about?" Scotland wondered aloud.

"Why am I a 'thing' now?! I'm a person too, you know!" Australia glared at America.

"Duuuuude! Turn the heeeeeating on!" America half-yelled, half-whined.

"Shut it! You're too loud! And the heating _is_ on!" Scotland snapped. The entire room fell silent.

"The heating's…on?"

"As in…the room is supposed to be warm?"

Ireland sighed. "Scottie, you need to get your heating fixed."

"There's nothing wrong with it! And don't call me 'Scottie'!"

"Ve~ why is it so c-c-c-c-cold?" Italy asked, over-exaggerating on the stutters.

"Because we're not close to the Equator, that's why!" Scotland explained, irritated.

"Well, why don't you move closer to the Equator then?" America asked seriously.

"Oh right, I'll just pick up the entire British Isles and plonk it in between Africa and South America, shall I?" He snapped sarcastically.

Italy gasped in amazement. "You can actually _do_ that! You're amazing, Scottie!"

"Dammit, I was being sarcastic! And don't call me Scottie!"

"What? But America told us that you said we could call you that and that you loved the nickname." Italy frowned, looking at America. It was only then when he noticed that America was frantically shaking his head and pretending to slice his neck with a hand motion that indicated for Italy to _stop talking_.

" _AMERICAAAA! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"_ Scotland roared with enough ferocity to scare a family of bears. America then leapt out of the pile of nations, somehow managed to dodge the Scot, and ran away.

"Quit running away you coward! Face you fate like a man!" Scotland shouted.

"I'm not running away! I'm making a strategic withdrawal!" America replied, equally loud, while charging up the stairs.

Wales chuckled, earning a confused look from Ireland.

"What's funny?" The Irishman asked.

Wales shook his head, a faint smile on his face. "It's just…people say that messing around and being stupid in serious situations is wrong and inappropriate and stuff like that. But really, it helps lighten the mood, and helps people cope with serious matters."

"I guess so." Ireland replied, edging closer to Australia, who was feeling fairly freaked out by how close the nations were to him.

Japan, who had his face hidden from everyone, thought, _six days. Six more days before I can see Asa-san awake. I've…missed him. Not to mention how worried I've been about him. Oh, Asa-san…I still can't believe how close I came to losing one of the first friends I ever made._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just brought back the AsaKiku from chapter 6. But don't worry; if you don't like this pairing, then know this. There are no pairings in this. And if there is, they're either intentional or unnoticeable. 
> 
> And another thing: at the end of chapter 6, Japan said 'I love him', right? Well, take the following example. You don't have enough money to buy, say…a chocolate bar. Your friend goes and buys it for you. You would sometimes say 'thank you so much' or 'I love you, (friend/name)', or something similar to this. Well, in this case, Japan loves England very much as a friend. They managed to overcome the whole western/eastern thing, and became friends. Therefore, when Japan says 'I love him', he doesn't mean it in a relationship-type way. He means it as if to convey his thoughts to England by saying he loves him very much as a friend, and that he's upset by the whole England-in-a-coma thing. Do you get me or have I just confused you?
> 
> Another thing I should explain: in chapter 7, Japan mentions in his thoughts that he thinks England is mysterious and fairly handsome, didn't he? Well, if you've ever watched the episode where the scene on the hill happens, you'll know what I mean. To make this easier to understand, Japan respects people, doesn't he? Well, in the moment of silence atop the hill with England, Japan had the chance to take in England's features, and these two hit him. Of course, the latter ('fairly handsome') would make him blush slightly (it would make anyone blush though) as the term 'handsome' is normally used as a strong compliment for a male, who someone is falling for.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Have you ever felt like the day just drags on and on? Or perhaps that the day goes so fast you just don't know where the hours went? Well, this is partly explainable. If you are enjoying yourself, or doing something that you find very interesting, then time seems to go faster. The opposite occurs if you are doing something incredibly boring or uninteresting – time seems to drag on. However, the concept of time is a huge mystery sometimes, as any way you look at it, _time doesn't change._ The minutes you spend doing something fun are the same as when you do something boring. It just psychologically seems to fast or too slow.

In the nations' case, the time seemed _way_ too slow.

They'd formulated a plan, and all they had to do was set it in motion. However, they still had five days left, as it only took one day to plan it out. It was both exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time, as they impatiently waited for the time when their friend, former mentor and brother woke up.

And the same went for the comatose Brit, who also impatiently waited to wake up. For one cannot _force_ themselves to wake up. One must be _patient_ – and this was _not_ any of their strong points.

"What time is it?" One would ask.

Another would glance at a clock, or a watch, and reply with a time. And no matter what time it was, the first speaker would always groan, knowing that there was still _so much time_ left.

In the case of England, however, who _couldn't_ ask anyone the time, he could only mentally count the seconds. _One…two…three…four…five…_ \- and so on. And just counting seconds, not knowing if it was morning or night, was _extremely_ irritating.

* * *

~England's POV~

"Twenty-four…twenty-five…twenty-six…" I mumble to myself, eyes shut and eyebrow twitching in irritation. "Twenty-seven – I give up!" I'm just so frustrated! Why does time go by so slowly?!

I raise my head to glare at the darkness overhead, like a blanket of night, albeit lacking stars. _A starless night, yes, that's what this is like. No light, just the darkness. Lost out in the cold, all alone, waiting for someone to save me._

I sigh, before opening my mouth and yelling, "Dammit, just wake up, you bloody, good-for-nothing body! I'm ready, so why aren't you?!" Then again, I can't blame my body for this (however strange that sounds). _I_ was the one that grabbed the knife, and _I_ was the one who chose to end it all. I was in control of my body then, so I didn't act without thinking – well…

Ahhhhh, once again, I'm contradicting myself. I'm having an _argument_ with myself. I really do think that if I stay here much longer, I may just go insane.

* * *

~Narrator POV~

Australia opened the front door, heading out. Most of the nations had fallen asleep while gathered in the living room for warmth. He hadn't told anyone where he was going, so he was sure he wouldn't be stopped. However, he was surprised when he _was_ stopped before he exited the house.

"Where are you going?" New Zealand asked, rubbing his eyes

"I'm uh…shh!" He quickly walked out the door, before turning round to shut it. Unfortunately, he couldn't shut it, because New Zealand was stood right in the doorway, holding the door open.

"Quit acting suspicious and just tell me." The Kiwi caught sight of sadness in Australia's eyes, and instantly knew where he was headed. "You're going to see him, aren't you." It wasn't said as a question, but as a statement.

The Australian sighed before nodding. "Yeah; I haven't seen him yet, so I wanted to go-"

"Why don't I come with you?"

"-alone."

"Oh."

"Sorry, Zea." Australia turned and began to walk away.

"Wait!" New Zealand bolted out the doorway and overtook his neighbour, before spinning round and stopping him from going further.

Australia raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I haven't seen him yet; I'll accompany you."

He shook his head. "No, I'd prefer to go alone…" He trailed off, looking down.

"Because you don't want anyone see you get all emotional." New Zealand finished.

Australia's eyes widened. "How did you-"

"I've known you all my life, Aus. You don't like crying in front of people, especially England, because you want to be seen as a strong nation. You wanted to prove yourself at Gallipoli, but-" The Kiwi immediately cut himself off as he saw his neighbour tense, knowing that it was a subject he didn't like to talk about.

Clearing his throat, he finished, "I want to see England as much as you do. But if you break down, I don't want you to be alone. Especially not after…"

Australia turned his head away, knowing what New Zealand was hinting at. One time, during WW2, England had been very badly injured in an event called the German Blitz, and Australia had gone to visit him to make sure he was alright. After only ever seeing the strong, confident side of the Brit, seeing his weak, pained side caused him to break down. Only England, Scotland (who had been present there at the time) and New Zealand knew of Australia's breakdown. However, they never held it against him, or used it as blackmail.

Knowing he couldn't argue, Australia gave in. "Fine."

With that, the two walked away, completely forgetting about shutting the door.

"Hm…why is it so cold suddenly?" France asked, shivering slightly.

"Dunno…then again, it's _always_ cold here." America replied.

"Hey! You cheeky git, it's not _always_ cold here! It just…happens to be cold right now." Scotland growled.

* * *

~At the hospital~

After asking the lady working at the reception desk, Australia and New Zealand arrived at the door to the room that held their former mentor.

Taking a deep breath, New Zealand opened the door, and was greeted with the sight of England laying on a bed, eyes closed and chest rising in an even pace. He looked…peaceful.

Slowly walking in, the Kiwi glanced at his neighbour with a concerned look, before he swore in his head.

Australia's pupils were constricted, and his body tense and frozen to the spot, as he stared at England in pure shock.

"Aus…?" New Zealand called uncertainly as he cautiously approached the brunette. _This is probably the first time he's seen someone close to him in a coma,_ he thought as he reached up to Australia's shoulder, shaking it lightly.

The taller man gasped, stumbling backwards at the contact. Worried, New Zealand said, "Hey Aus, are you alright? We can go, if you want."

Australia shakily shook his head. "N-no, I'm fine." He walked over to the nearest chair, which was by England's hip. His companion sat in the chair opposite him.

"Are you sure?"

"…Yeah."

New Zealand was unconvinced, but decided not to press on. Instead, he gazed at England, remembering the times that he saw him as often as possible. But when the British Empire fell, they seemingly lost connection – or most of it, anyway. After all, they're thousands – if not, millions – of miles away from each other country-wise, not to mention the heavy workload due to their nation status, thus making it quite rare for either of them to visit each other in their home country.

A shaky breath from his neighbour caught his attention. Glancing across, he saw Australia had his head down, hands clasped tightly together. He was shaking, but the Kiwi was unsure if it was out of anger or sadness.

"Dammit…how can I not have known?!" Australia suddenly whispered in a harsh tone, as if it took all of his self-control not to yell.

Immediately knowing what he was on about, New Zealand shook his head. "It wasn't your fault-"

"It is 'cause I'm so far away?"

"No, of course not-"

"Or is it because I'm so bloody oblivious that I can't notice when someone's suffering?"

"Don't be ridiculous-"

"Oh, I know what! It's because I only care about myself-"

"That's it!" New Zealand had had enough. "Are you hearing yourself?! _None_ of us knew what was happening with him!" He calmed down a bit, and looked at England again. "He shields his heart from everyone around him, and guards his emotions so well that we never saw the difference in him. He only shows his anger and irritation, along with a couple other emotions – in public, anyway. He probably opens up once he gets home. None of us – especially us – could have known."

"…"

The Kiwi raised an eyebrow at Australia's silence. "What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry." He murmured quietly.

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry." The Australian repeated, louder.

"To who are you addressing?"

"Both of you."

"What?"

"I'm sorry for upsetting you with all that talk. And I'm sorry to you, England, for not being able to pick up on your suffering, and help you before…well, before all this happened."

"Don't worry about it; I forgive you as long as you never talk like that again. And I'm sure England would say that you don't need to apologize to him. He'd say it wasn't your fault and that there wasn't anything you could've done." New Zealand had meant the words to be reassuring, which they _had_ been – until the last part of the final sentence.

"But there _was_ something I could've done."

"Don't start that again." The Kiwi warned.

"If only I was more…attentive."

"In what?"

"Meetings, reunions, parties. If I was more attentive-"

"As a matter of fact, you're _very_ attentive. You don't give yourself enough credit. You pick up on the smallest things-"

"But not _this,_ obviously!" Australia spread his arms as he said 'this'. "You give me more credit than I deserve!"

"And like I said, you don't give yourself _enough_ credit! Dammit, why are you like this suddenly?!"

Australia lowered his head so New Zealand couldn't see his eyes.

Suddenly, The Kiwi's eyes widened as he knew what was going on. "I know what it is now. When you were younger, and you had that breakdown, you were really upset and cried and everything. But now you're older, you have breakdowns in a different way. You have a complicated mood swing."

"I don't have a 'complicated mood swing'." He muttered, not lifting his head.

New Zealand raised an eyebrow sarcastically. "Oh? You went form shocked, to blaming yourself – self-loathing - , to subdued for a bit, then to sorry, then to self-loathing once again. I don't know about you, but I'd call that a complicated mood swing."

"…Whatever."

The Kiwi frowned. "What's wrong?"

"It's just…talking about it without seeing it isn't as bad as actually _seeing_ it with your own eyes."

He soon caught on to what Australia meant, and nodded solemnly. "Aye. Before, we could say 'England is in a coma'-" He paused as his neighbour flinched, but carried on, "and since we'd never seen him in a coma before, we could only picture it. But now we've seen him like…this, every time we talk about it now, we'll immediately see him like this in our minds."

"Yeah. I guess."

A silence fell upon the room.

After a few minutes, Australia gently took England's hand in his, and leant closer to England's face to whisper to him, "Wake up soon…dad."

New Zealand made no comment, shocked by the word 'dad'. Australia used to use it to address England when he was younger, but stopped when he grew up. The term was rarely ever used nowadays – in fact, he had only heard Australia use it a handful of times.

So for him to call England 'dad' must mean that he truly meant, from the bottom of his heart, the words that accompanied the term.

But the thing that shocked New Zealand most was that whenever Australia said 'dad' – referring to England, of course - , he usually meant everything he said beforehand (or after, in some cases), which meant one thing:

England has heard Australia and New Zealand's conversation, and when Australia called him 'dad', he came to the conclusion that everything Australia had said meant:

_Australia was being honest with everything he said. This is how he secretly feels, but he hides it by being cheerful. But in reality, he's falling into a depression of his own with everything that's been going off lately._

Little did they know, both the Brit and the Kiwi had drawn the exact same conclusion. So know, New Zealand wanted to help Australia as much as possible, and England wanted to wake up even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm getting inspiration back for this story, so updates may be quicker now. It's all thanks to the plot twist at the end, which even I didn't expect. I think it takes skill to not have a clue how your own story plays out, don't you?
> 
> Sorry if you didn't like the conversation with New Zealand and Australia, by the way. I wanted them to go the hospital, but the cliché of 'oh no! You're in hospital! *cries dramatically and runs all over the place*' – well, you get the idea.
> 
> And I have an evil idea that there's something behind that seemingly-always-cheerful smile of Australia's.
> 
> Also, because of this plot twist, this story will likely be longer than expected. I hope you don't mind.
> 
> Oh my God. Once again, I'm babbling on. I'll shut up now, and let you continue with your life.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Australia was completely silent as he and New Zealand travelled back to Scotland's house. It made the Kiwi uncomfortable, so he chose to try and ease the heavy tension in the air.

"Hey, so…what do you want to do when we get to Scotland's?"

Australia turned to face him and lifted an eyebrow, before shrugging and turning back to stare at the ground, as if talking required too much effort.

"Ooookaaay…" New Zealand frowned, before clicking his fingers – thus startling his neighbour.

"What?"

"I know! Let's play a game while we walk! It's still a fair distance away, so why not?"

"What sort of game?" The Kiwi internally smirked as he noticed that Australia seemed slightly perky as he turned to New Zealand. _He loves games; hopefully this'll cheer him up._

"Uh…ah! How 'bout I Spy?" He couldn't hold back a smile at the incredulous look on Australia's face.

" _'_ _I Spy'?_ Are you serious? That's a little kiddie game!"

"Well, it would suit you perfectly, then." New Zealand playfully nudged Australia in the ribs, earning a scowl from the taller man.

"'m not a little kid." He mumbled under his breath.

"Oh c'mon! Please?"

"...Fine."

New Zealand clapped his hands excitedly, before looking round. "Okay, I'll start." He cleared his throat dramatically. "I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with…S!"

Australia rolled his eyes, before playing along and looking round. "Uh…sky."

The Kiwi grinned. "Nope."

"Uh…sun."

"Nope."

"Sea?"

"We're not _near_ a sea; c'mon, play properly."

The Australian rolled his eyes again, but continued. "Sunglasses?"

New Zealand put a hand to his forehead, as if shielding his eyes from the sun, and looked round teasingly. "Where? Where are the sunglasses?"

"Oh shut up, you." Australia muttered, earning a snicker from his neighbour.

"Keep guessing."

"Sam."

"Huh?"

"I see someone called Sam."

"And _how_ would you know what they're called?"

Australia shrugged. "He just looks like a Sam."

New Zealand sighed, earning a smirk from Australia. _Good, I think I'm slowly cheering him up. Just got to keep this game going, however childish it is._

"Ah…I know what it is now…"

The Kiwi raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what is it then?"

Australia folded his arms confidently. "Squirrel."

"What?"

"Squirrel."

"I heard you the first time."

"Is it right?"

"Well think about it; where can _you_ see a squirrel?"

Australia didn't reply; instead, he walked over to a tree and leant against it. New Zealand raised an eyebrow at this, but approached him.

Suddenly, the Australian raised his right leg, before slamming it against the tree, making sure his foot went flat against the trunk. The tree shook, and within seconds, a small, red squirrel fell from it.

The Kiwi's eyes went wide, fearing that the squirrel would hurt itself, before Australia swiftly unfolded his arms and neatly caught the little creature in one hand.

"…Wh-why would you do th-that?!" New Zealand stuttered, shocked by what had just happened.

"I can see a squirrel."

"You…you…you squirrel killer!"

The Australian raised an eyebrow. "But I didn't kill it."

"You tried to!"

"I saved it."

"Yeah, _after_ you made it fall out of its tree!"

Australia shrugged. "But it didn't get hurt, did it? Like I'd hurt an innocent creatu-ow!"

"What?"

The squirrel leapt onto the tree and scampered into the leaves. "Damn thing bit me." Australia replied bitterly while he shook his hand to get rid of some of the pain.

New Zealand chuckled. "Serves you right."

"That's horrible!"

"Nearly killing a squirrel is horrible."

"For the last time; I didn't kill it nor did I come close to killing it!"

"Sure."

"…"

"Squirrel Killer."

" _Dammit_!"

New Zealand burst out laughing, soon accompanied by Australia. _There we go; I'd say I've completely cheered him up now._

He stopped laughing, and turned to face the direction that they'd just come from; the direction that lead to the hospital. _Don't worry, England; I'll try and help him as much as I can. Once you're awake and cured of your depression, then you can help me out._

"So, what was the word beginning with 'S'?" Australia asked as they continued walking.

"…There…there wasn't one."

" _Huh_?!"

New Zealand rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah…I was kinda planning on saying 'no' to everything you suggested."

"You-!" Growling in mock anger, Australia quickened his pace. New Zealand nearly had to jog to keep up with him.

* * *

~At Scotland's house~

America was sprawled across the couch, lazily flicking through channels on the TV, much to Scotland's annoyance.

"Dude, don't you have _anything_ worth watching here? Do you have a DVD or something at least?" America said in a dull, bored voice.

Scotland growled, "Excuse me, there is _plenty_ to watch on TV! And DVD-wise…" He trailed off, frowning.

"I betcha don't even _have_ any DVDs, do you?" America smirked as Scotland started muttering under his breath.

"Whatever."

"Where's Australia and New Zealand, ve~?" Italy piped up.

Canada replied quickly as he saw his brother open his mouth, "Probably going to visit England. After all, they haven't been yet."

"Oh." Italy looked down, before glancing up and clapping his hands excitedly. "Hey, hey, I know what to do! How about we play a game!"

"A…game?" Japan frowned.

Italy nodded, grinning. "Yeah! Either a board game or say…the alphabet game!"

"No." Scotland shook his head.

"He probably doesn't _have_ any board games." America sniggered under his breath.

Scotland glared at him out of the corner of his eye. " _Actually_ , as a matter of fact, I _do_ have some board games, but you won't understand them."

America folded his arms and was about to reply when there was a knock at the door.

France got up and walked over to the door, before opening it. "Ah, I was wondering when you'd come back. I'm not very happy with you two leaving earlier and leaving the door open."

"Sorry. We completely forgot about the door." New Zealand apologised.

"It's fine." France stood aside to let them in, before closing the door behind them.

"So nice of you to join us." Ireland remarked. "We were just deciding on whether or not to play a game."

"I don't mind. But be careful around Squirrel Killer."

Australia turned to New Zealand. "Is that my new name now or something?"

"Yeah." The Kiwi nodded.

"Did he kill a squirrel?" Japan asked.

"No, I didn't. It's all a big misunderstanding." Australia defended himself quickly.

"He kicked a tree, and a squirrel fell out. It nearly died." New Zealand briefly explained.

"It did _not_ nearly die! I caught it perfectly!" The Australian exclaimed.

"It was your fault for kicking the tree in the first place."

"I was showing you a squirrel."

"Sure."

"Grr…" Australia growled, before storming out of the room.

"So, on to the present topic." Wales rose, catching everyone's attention. "I say that we might as well play some games. It'll be fun, and it'll take our minds of…certain matters."

Ireland nudged him playfully. "You sure have a way with words."

The Welshman glared, but didn't reply.

So, for the rest of the day, the nations played games to take their minds off of England.

* * *

~England's POV~

I'm still reeling from the shock of it, to be honest. I can pace all I want, I can think all I want, but I know the hidden meaning behind those words. The meaning behind that tone, and if I could see, I would probably know the meaning behind that expression.

 _Australia is slowly falling into depression._ I replay this thought over and over in my mind, not wanting it to be true; it's just a dream, just a rumour – just a lie.

_Then again, I suppose that's what the poor lad thought when he heard about me in…this state. In fact, I bet this happening triggered his depression._

I sigh and curse this happening. I curse me getting depressed. I curse Australia getting depressed. I curse life. I curse _everything_. But then again, I always have. I've always hated life; well, actually, that's not true. If I _always_ hated life, then I would have…ended it long ago. No, I haven't always hated life.

I suddenly recall the story that I told Italy when he came to check on me. Furrowing my brow, I remember that I felt some sort of presence there. Like the presence of a nation; but who? I was so preoccupied with Italy, that I paid no attention to the person there. After all, I was probably paranoid or something then, wasn't I? Italy caught me, so I must've imagined a person about to walk in. Stupid paranoia.

But now I'm starting to have second thoughts. What if there really _was_ someone there? But surely Italy would have encountered them, or me.

Dammit, I can't shake this feeling! It's like a mystery left unsolved, so that later on, when someone looks back on it, they want to solve it. Who was it? Or rather, was anyone really there?

Ah, I should really stop this kind of thinking. It sounds like some sort of horror movie. Then again, I suppose my life _is_ a horror movie. The jump-scares are these sudden things I have to deal with, like the American Revolution, the Battle of Normandy, etc. I'm slowly walking down a dark hallway, completely lost in a dense maze of corridors, chock-full of monsters waiting to pounce on me. Not literal monsters, of course, although it certainly does feel like it.

I sigh again, and chuckle lowly. _I'm getting old,_ I think to myself, _but perhaps I won't throw in the towel just yet. Let's see…if ten – no, that's pushing it. If five people really need me, then I'll live on for their sake._

I shift my gaze to glare at the darkness directly in front of me. "You hear that, Fate?" I ask aloud. "If five people need me, then you're not going to get rid of me yet, you got that?"

Of course, if less than five people need me, or _no-one_ needs me, then…I don't know. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

But first, I must find a way to help Australia. Hopefully, it's just a temporary thing, and it'll go once I wake up. Of course, life is never that simple.

I close my eyes, before opening them and whispering, "I hope I can help you before it's too late, Australia. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I was too late to save you. If I was too late…to save your life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Not as long as some of my other chapters, but still over 1K. 
> 
> I have a policy (one of many, anyway), where my chapters must be at least over 1K words. So don't worry; I won't update with a 300-word chapter or something, unless it's an A/N, but that goes against one of my other policies.
> 
> You know what, I might as well tell you this one while I'm at it. One of my other policies is to never leave a story unfinished. No matter what, I will never leave a story unfinished. I won't be able to live with myself, after all!
> 
> So have no fear; this story will be finished. I'll make sure of it.
> 
> Bye~


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

The next couple of days passed by at a crawl, but at least they _passed_. The day was so close and yet…seemed so far.

But at last, the day came. The day came when England would wake up. So, it wasn't a surprise that all of the nations in Scotland's house wanted to go.

"I'm definitely going!" America stated loudly.

"You're definitely _not_ going. Bloody hell, you'll give him a headache! Not to mention us…" Scotland murmured the last part under his breath.

America stamped his foot, much like a little kid. "That's not fair! I wanna go!" He whined.

Ireland rolled his eyes. "Tough. You're nothing but a nuisance at times, America. You be a good boy and stay here. If you do that, I may give you a treat."

"I'm not a dog!"

The Irishman shrugged carelessly. "I never said that."

"But you _implied_ it!"

"You're giving me a headache."

America reeled as if he'd been shot, before glaring and taking a step closer to Ireland. "You wanna say that again?"

Ireland locked eyes with him. "You're giving me a headache."

"Why you-"

"That's enough, America." Canada appeared and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Come over here."

Grumbling, the American followed his soft-spoken brother to the corner of the room.

"Listen. If what you said is true, and England _did_ fall into a depression because of your revolution, then-"

"Hang on." America interrupted. "How do _you_ know about that? You weren't there when I talked about it."

"Wales told me about it."

"Huh? Really?"

"Yes, but you're missing the point."

America raised an eyebrow at Canada, silently urging him to carry on.

"If the first face he sees when he wakes up is yours, then he may have flashbacks of back then, and thus start becoming depressed again."

The American snorted. "I doubt it."

"Well, you can't swear it won't happen, can you? It's better to be safe than sorry."

He was quiet for a moment, before he sighed. "Alright, fine. I won't be there when he wakes up." America replied bitterly, before walking away tensely.

The Canadian sighed and joined the others, who were still arguing.

"Arturo's my friend, ve~" Italy chimed in. "I _have_ to be there."

"Don't be silly, Italie." France murmured. "I've known Angleterre far longer than you. He is my friend more than yours." (Italie is French for Italy and Angleterre is French for England)

"Nah, lookie here mates." Australia argued. "He _raised_ me; therefore, _I_ should go."

"Don't forget me. If he's going, I'm going." New Zealand added.

"But we're his _brothers._ We're closer than you guys could _ever_ be to him." Scotland challenged.

"But I haven't heard very nice things about what you three used to do to Arturo, though." Italy pointed out.

Scotland, Ireland and Wales froze, and silence dawned on the gathered nations.

"Italie." France finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "That is not something we will talk about here-"

"No, it's alright France." Scotland put a hand up to silence any further comment from the Frenchman. "I heard what England told you. When you went to visit him not long before this all happened."

The Italian's eyes flew wide and he gasped. "Wha-?!"

"And that was only _part_ of the story. If you really want to know what happened, then I'll tell you. Just not now."

Italy hesitantly nodded. "O-okay."

"Well, if it helps, America has agreed – I think – to stay behind, so I will stay behind as well to keep an eye on him. Would that be alright?" Canada asked.

Wales nodded. "Sure. But…what about everyone else? There's no way we can all go because it'll overcrowd him and the room. Only a few of us can go."

"I uh…I think Australia should stay behind as well." New Zealand almost whispered.

"What?!" Australia swiftly turned to stare incredulously at his neighbour. "Why?!"

New Zealand inched closer and cupped a hand around one side of his mouth to whisper into the other man's ear, "Because of what happened last time."

Of course, no-one except Australia heard those words, but he tensed up in response.

"Fine." He spat, and stalked off, fists clenched at his sides. At a glance, he would seem angry, or perhaps mardy, but really, he was trying his damn hardest to hold back tears as he realised that New Zealand was right. What if he had another breakdown, but this time in front of others, including an awake England? He didn't think he could bear that.

New Zealand sighed as he watched Australia leave. "I'll follow Canada's example. I too will stay here, to keep an eye on Australia and stop him from sneaking out or something."

Scotland nodded. "Alright. Now, I think at least _one_ of us brothers should go. At _least_. Then we've got France, Japan and Italy. All six of us can't go, so make your minds up."

The mentioned nations shared glances with each other, before they all said "I'll go." At exactly the same time. In perfect unison.

The Scot groaned loudly. "You're all so stubborn."

"You said it as well!" Ireland exclaimed.

He mumbled something inaudible in reply.

"Well, I think Ireland and I should stay behind, and visit later." Wales piped up.

"Wha – hey! Don't go deciding things that are _my_ decision!" Ireland turned to the Welshman.

He rolled his eyes. "Look, we all need to decide _now_. England could wake up at any moment, after all. So if us two step down, then Scotland will go with two others."

"Two others? But it's between me, France and Japan! We can't decide like that!" Italy cried.

"Well, you'll have to." Ireland snapped, irritated.

"England-san is my friend. In fact, I could say he was my fi-" Japan cut himself off from finishing the sentence.

France raised an eyebrow at the Asian nation, but said, "Well, I've known him for longer than you two. I'm _definitely_ going."

"Ah! But then it's between me and Japan!" Italy complained.

"I am sorry Italy, but I would quite like to see him." Japan looked down at the floor.

Italy looked as if he might cry for a moment, before he sighed and nodded. "Okay then. I'll stay behind. You two go."

France's eyes widened slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Then his face brightened. "But I get to see him later, ve~!"

"Alright; we better get going." Scotland headed for the door, followed by France and Japan.

Before he exited through the door, he turned and called, "Hey, you lot! Don't destroy anything while we're gone or else!"

A chorus of…varied replies answered him, and with a huff, he left the house.

America stood up. "I need the toilet."

Canada raised an eyebrow but merely nodded. "Okay."

Internally grinning, America quick-walked out the room, heading towards the bathroom. However, once he got there, he continued walking until he got to the back door. Next, he opened the door, glad that Scotland had left the key in the lock, and exited the house. Thus began his secret journey to the hospital. He may have 'agreed' to Canada's proposal, but many people go back on their word. And this was _important_.

Canada raised his head slightly and frowned. "Was that…?"

New Zealand raised an eyebrow at the Canadian. "Was what?"

"Did you just hear a door open?"

"You must be imagining things. Who would dare break in?" Wales replied.

"It's more a case of who would dare break _out_." Canada muttered.

Italy tilted his head to the side. "You mean America left, ve~?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Ireland sighed. "All he did was go to the toilet. He'll be back."

"I wouldn't be too sure if I were you~" Australia chimed in in a sing-song voice.

The Irishman's head snapped to face the other. "You think he really escaped?"

Australia chuckled. "I wouldn't put it past him. That guy can be _so_ determined sometimes."

"You say determined; I say stubborn." Wales muttered under his breath.

"I'll go check; just to make sure." Canada stood up, and slowly headed to the bathroom.

It didn't take him long, and he knocked lightly on the door. "America? You in there?"

No reply. Canada knocked a little harder. "America? Can you hear me? It's Canada. Open up."

Still no response. It was completely silent on the other side of the door.

The Canadian reached for the door handle, and, to his surprise, found it unlocked as he tried to open the door.

As the door swung open, the dread and concern that was settling in his stomach turned over to anger and disbelief as he saw no America in the bathroom.

Running back to the others, Canada reported, "America's gone! He escaped!"

"Told ya." Australia teased. "Hmm…what shall your punishment be for losing the bet, Irely?"

Ireland, who had one of Australia's arms draped across his shoulder, growled and shoved the arm off. "What _bet_?! And don't call me 'Irely'. It sounds utterly ridiculous."

"Awwww don't be like that. C'mon, you know what bet I'm talking about."

Ireland raised an eyebrow. "You mean the fact that I believed America would return, and you thought otherwise? That's hardly a bet."

"To me it is. Let's see…oh! I know! I get to call you 'Irely'-"

"Fine. Only you though."

"-for the rest of your life."

"Hell no!"

"You said 'fine'~"

"Ugh. Now I know how Scotland feels with the whole 'Scotty' thing."

Australia shrugged. "Oh well."

Ireland folded his arms. "I don't appreciate being called 'Irely'."

" _Guys_! We have more pressing matters than this!" New Zealand interrupted.

"Sorry, mum." Australia mumbled.

"Do I _look_ like your mother?!"

"I don't know. I never _had_ a mother."

New Zealand choked on his words for a moment, before he cleared his throat. "A-anyway, we should go find America. If Scotland finds out, he'll probably kill _us_ as well as America."

* * *

~At the hospital~

Once the three nations arrived at the hospital, they were filled with nervous excitement. _Finally, England's going to wake up!_ They thought. _But what if he does it again? What if he doesn't want to see us?_ Were also thoughts that went through their heads.

They never noticed the American, who was sneaking in through the doors behind them.

When they arrived outside England's room, Scotland growled deep in his throat and whipped his head round to glare daggers straight at America, who was only a few metres away from the trio.

" _What_ do you think you're _doing_ here America?!" The Scot hissed angrily.

"I-how-what-you-" America struggled to form a sentence, before he blurted out, "How did you know I was here?!"

"I could sense someone behind me just after we entered the first corridor."

"…"

"Someone annoying."

"Hey!"

"You never answered my question. _Why_ are you _here_ , America?"

"I'm not leaving, if that's what you're implying."

"Stop avoiding my question!"

"It's none of your business!"

By now, the pair were yelling at each other, which attracted the attention of doctors and nurses.

One doctor came up to them, arms folded and peering at them through his glasses. "This is a _hospital_ , gentlemen. If you can't be quiet or at least lower your voices, then you'll have to leave."

"Don't worry, doctor. We'll be quiet." France quickly replied.

The doctor raised an eyebrow at them. "Very well then. But if I hear any more shouting from you lot, then you'll have to leave. Understand?"

"Yes. Our apologies, doctor-san." Japan did a small bow, and the doctor hmphed and left, secretly happy with someone bowing to him.

"You see? We're not even in the _room_ and you've already caused trouble." Scotland snapped, his voice lowered.

"Seriously? It's _my_ fault? Pssh, please. You started it." America muttered in reply.

"That's enough, the pair of you. Amérique, Écosse, no more fighting. Not here, anyway. Do it once we get back home." France ordered.

Japan sighed and opened the door to England's room, before silently shutting it behind him. The other three didn't realise he had disappeared, as they were too busy quietly fighting with each other.

He sat down in the chair nearest the Brit's head, and chuckled. "I'm sorry about all that, Asa-san. America-san and Scotland-san don't seem to get along very well."

Japan closed his eyes before opening them again and gazing at the blonde locks that delicately fanned out across the pillow. "It's today, isn't it? You wake up today. Well," he leant forwards slightly and lowered his voice, "I hope you wake up, at least. In fact, we all do. So, promise me you'll wake up today, Asa-san?"

"Whoa dude; did you just call Iggy 'Asa-san'?" The sudden voice made Japan jump, and he quickly whirled around to stare at the three nations, like a deer caught in headlights, before he regained his composure.

"N-no, America-san. I only call him England-san."

"But I just heard you-"

"America, will you quit being nosy and mind your own business?" Scotland snapped. "Just leave it." _But I definitely heard 'Asa-san', however quiet it was._

"Shush! Did you see that?" France cried, swiftly sitting in the chair next to Japan (around England's hand).

"See what?" America walked over.

"His finger! It just twitched! He's waking up!"

"Actually, I managed to have a conversation with him." Scotland mumbled.

"What?!" France whipped his head around to stare at the Scot.

"He might not be waking up. He can probably feel a headache coming on from America's whining."

"Hey!" America complained.

"Well, it's true." Scotland shrugged.

France sighed. "Now don't start _that_ again."

* * *

~England's POV~

I feel so weird suddenly. The darkness has lifted considerably, and I can see fairly well around me. Problem is, there _isn't_ anything around me. The darkness was the only object, but it wasn't a material one.

But maybe the reason I feel weird is because I'm waking up? It's always a possibility, I guess. I mean, surely it's been long enough? It's uncomfortable to be alone for this long.

However, how long has it _really_ been? Time is often manipulated in the realm of dreams. Six hours of sleep can equal a couple of days in a dream, for example. The same as six hours of sleep can equal a couple of _minutes_ in a dream. It's quite confusing, to be honest.

Without warning, I begin to feel a tingling sensation all over my body. In the next second, I'm in a position similar to lying on your back, except I feel some sort of strong wind against me, pushing my arms and legs back a bit, and blowing my hair backwards and to the side.

Then I feel myself falling – no, rising – and the darkness turns into full-on bright, white light. Am I dying? No, I don't think so. Waking up? Possibly.

But I'm shooting upwards (rising) faster and faster, and the light is getting brighter and brighter, and I clench my eyes shut, but I can still see the light from behind my eyelids, and the wind against my chest is robbing me of air, and I'm panicking now, because this has never happened before and I'm so scared and-

I opened my eyes.

* * *

Japan's breath caught in his throat as England's eyes slowly opened for the first time in weeks.

And he, along with the others, came to the majorly relieving conclusion.

England had woken up from his coma.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

"Asa- England-san!" Japan exclaimed, jumping slightly as the Brit's eyes slowly opened. France's eyebrows shot up his forehead, and Scotland stood, while America stared intently with his eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

England slowly opened his eyes, before squeezing them shut as bright light flooded in. _Real_ light. _I'm…awake?_ He thought to himself as he attempted to open his eyes again, although squinting a lot. When his eyes adjusted, the Brit opened his eyes fully and took in his surroundings warily, as if feeling threatened.

He noticed the four nations gathered around him, and suddenly felt cramped. _Give me some space, will you?!_ He thought angrily.

"Uh…England? Iggy, dude?" America cautiously spoke up, earning the man in question to snap his head over to the American.

Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, England tried to remember who was in front of him. His vision was a bit blurry after not only just waking up, but also after not being used in so long. _A…merica? Yes, that's him, all right. Great…_

"Angleterre? Can you hear me?" France stepped closer, his eyebrows returning to their rightful positions, before furrowing in concern.

England opened his mouth to speak, but his voice only cracked and squeaked, and he cleared his throat, before trying again. "Ye-ah." The Brit cursed how weak his voice made him sound – even though he _felt_ weak anyway.

Japan sighed with relief. "Thank goodness. I- _we_ were so worried about you." The Japanese man rubbed his eyes subtly, as if he were about to cry with joy at seeing his friend finally awake.

"Aye. Never do that again, you hear? _Never_." Scotland folded his arms, trying to appear stern, but he couldn't hold back a smile. However, England tensed at his voice and stared at him in horror, causing the smile to fade from the Scot's lips.

Awkwardly, Scotland backed away from the Brit, before mumbling, "I'm gonna ring Ireland and tell him the news." With that, he exited the room, phone in hand.

England sighed and relaxed, feeling as if the 'danger' was gone. He knew he shouldn't act like that in front of his brothers anymore, but he guessed it was a…habit of sorts. After all, they didn't exactly have the nicest history together.

As America began excitedly chattering away, and Japan and France also talked to him, England stared ahead at the opposite wall, glad no-one was there to block his sight. He felt so… _loved_ \- wait what? No, that's not right. He's not loved by them. He's merely being pitied. They just came to say hello; they'll be back to normal soon enough.

Just then, the door opened, and someone walked in – but it wasn't Scotland. But the person who it _actually_ was was quite surprising.

Holding a small plant pot with three young sunflowers in them, none other than Russia walked in, before freezing at the sight of the three nations and England awake.

"Uh…" The Russian trailed off, unsure how to react. "Hello…?"

" _Russie_? What are you doing here?" France asked incredulously. (Russie is French for Russia)

"да, it is me." Russia replied with a curt nod. (да is Russian for yes) "…England?"

The Brit turned his head to face the Russian, and also nodded. "Yes."

"You're…awake?"

"Yes."

Russia beamed and walked forward, hesitating slightly when France took a step away from him. Continuing, he reached the bedside table, and placed the plant pot down.

"Russia dude, you're meant to put flowers in a glass vase, not a plant pot. Now they need taking care of!" America scolded.

The Russian turned to face him, before closing his eyes and smiling wider. "But this way, they can grow into nice, tall sunflowers, да? Not to mention it'll take Англия mind off things." (Англия is Russian for England, and England's is the same word apparently)

"Well, why are you here anyway? I thought you and Iggy don't get on?" America frowned.

"Actually, America, we _can_ get on if we want to. And don't call me Iggy!" England replied.

The American shrugged. "I just…didn't think you two could get on."

"To answer your first question, Америка," Russia cut in, "I'm here to see England. What else?" (Америка is Russian for America)

It was at that moment that Scotland walked in, and nearly choked on air as he saw Russia and America slowly stepping closer, as if about to have a fight.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." France held his hands up to stop the pair's approach to each other. "Amérique, Russie, don't fight in here! Take it outside, if you must. Oh!" The Frenchman noticed Scotland. "Écosse! You're back!" (Amérique is French for America and Écosse is French for Scotland)

"Tha mi air ais." Scotland replied, with a slight smirk. (tha mi air ais is Scottish Gaelic for I'm back)

America stared blankly at the Scot. "Uh…English please?"

Russia sniggered. "идиот." (идиот is Russian for idiot)

"What'd you say?" America asked threateningly, narrowing his eyes.

"That's enough!" France stood. "If you're talking to someone in your own language, and they can't understand you, just use English! That's one that we all know, right?"

"Chan eil mo choire iad gòrach." Scotland grumbled under his breath, but loud enough for France to hear. (Chan eil mo choire iad gòrach is Scottish Gaelic for Not my fault they are stupid)

" _Écosse!"_ France snapped. "Utiliser l'anglais!" (Utiliser l'anglais is French for use English)

" _France!"_ Scotland mocked. "Use English!"

The Frenchman cursed him under his breath, but otherwise remained silent.

Japan sighed and got everyone's attention. "Listen. England-san's asleep, so we should leave him in peace. He won't be discharged until tomorrow at the earliest, probably." The Japanese man turned to the Brit, and added in a softer tone, "Okay? We'll probably come back tomorrow." But of course, England couldn't reply as he was asleep.

Standing, Japan walked over to Russia and murmured, "The sunflowers you brought are beautiful, Russia."

The Russian beamed. "благодаря – I mean, thanks, Japan." (благодаря is Russian for thanks)

Japan smiled and nodded his head, not intimidated by Russia, and left the room.

Scotland's gaze dropped to the ground, and he turned away from the others, his hands balling into fists. "I am obviously not welcome here, so I'll leave." Walking away, he added over his shoulder, "Mar sin leat, bràthair beag." (Mar sin leat, bràthair beag is Scottish Gaelic for goodbye, little brother)

"What's that mean?" America asked.

"What? That last bit in his language, or his behaviour?" France asked.

"Both, I guess."

"Well, I can answer then first question. A long time ago, I learnt a bit of Scottish Gaelic, and I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure he said 'bye, little brother' or something similar. Now, the second question…that I can't answer. I suppose only Scotland himself can answer that." France explained.

The American nodded. "Okay. He'll probably never tell _me,_ though."

"I think I should get going now." Russia announced. "I know I just got here, but I do have a lot of work to do. I may come back tomorrow, though." With that, the Russian left the room, stealing one last glance at England and his sunflowers before walking through the door.

As Russia was walking down the corridor, he noticed Scotland walk round the corner quickly, as if he wanted to escape the hospital as soon as possible. _He seems…upset. Maybe he needs some cheering up?_ He thought as he also turned the corner, and sped up his pace to close the gap between him and the Scot.

* * *

Russia tailed Scotland for quite a few miles, confused as to why the Scot was showing no signs of stopping. Many times, he wanted to stop Scotland, but Russia decided that it would be best to just let him go where he wanted, and _then_ talk to him.

It took about thirty minutes, until Scotland finally slowed to a halt – in front of a large tree with thick branches and a rough trunk. The Russian watched in amazement as Scotland scaled the tree like it was nothing, before perching on one of the highest branches and gazing out into the distance. In fact, he was so high up that Russia could barely make him out among the foliage.

 _I…have to climb this tree?_ He thought, before sighing. _Guess I have no choice. I should be able to do it – after all, I've climbed trees before._

Grabbing the trunk, Russia noticed that the bark jutted out so many times that it was perfect for footholds and handholds. Tentatively, he began climbing the tree, his confidence boosting with each step, before he began to pick up speed. _Don't look down, don't look down, don't look do-_

Nearly at the top, Russia looked down, and felt dizzy when he saw how high up he was. Taking a shaky breath, he panicked slightly as the energy in his limbs suddenly faded, and he felt quite weak.

He had no time to cry out in alarm as his hand slipped, and he tipped backwards, his feet following, and Russia couldn't breathe – he thought he was going to die and-

His mind was brought out of overload as hand grabbed his left forearm, dangling him in place. Russia glanced up at his eyes widened at the sight of Scotland, one arm round the trunk of the tree, and one hand clutching his forearm, saving him from falling and although he wouldn't die, it would still be painful.

Surprised violet met piercing green as the two nation's eyes locked. But neither said a word, and Scotland began pulling Russia onto the nearest branch.

Once safely on the branch, Russia dared to breathe, and leant back against the trunk, legs out along the branch in a sort of sitting position. Scotland still stood, appearing to tower above Russia, before his nose twitched in irritation.

"Why did you follow me?" He asked coldly, eyes narrowed.

Russia glanced up, taken aback by the anger in Scotland's voice. It was almost as if he was trying to hide another emotion…shaking his head, Russia replied, "You seemed upset, so I thought you needed someone to cheer you up."

"Well, thank you for your _concern_ and everything, but I'd rather be alone. Please leave." The Scot spat out the word 'concern' as if it were poison.

The Russian wasn't planning on leaving any time soon, though, and instead got to his feet, and began climbing to the top of the tree, curious to see what Scotland was gazing at before. Angrily, the Scot quickly followed him.

Once Russia reached the top of the tree, he gasped in amazement at the sight. All around him was rolling hills, tall trees with full leaves even though they should have all dropped off, and although it was cold, the sight of untouched nature around him seemed to warm Russia's heart. As his country was often cold and covered in snow, he rarely got to enjoy the beauty of nature without the snow. Nor did he have time to, either, as he always had lots of work to do.

Scotland growled in his throat, snapping Russia back to the present. He sat down on the branch so as not to fall, legs dangling over the edge, and Scotland reluctantly did the same, as if he didn't want either him or Russia to stay. "What do you want?"

Russia was silently for a moment, before he asked quietly, "Is this your safe haven?"

The Scot's eyebrows rose. "Wh-what?"

"It is, isn't it? The place where you go to be alone and to try and escape all of your troubles."

Scotland bit his lip, before nodding. "Yeah. I like it here." He turned his gaze to the hills and the trees before him. "It's peaceful."

Russia nodded in understanding, following the other man's gaze. "Do you come here a lot?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes."

There was a comfortable silence, before a question sprang to the Russian's mind. "Do you bottle it up or let it out?"

Scotland frowned and faced him. "What do you mean?"

"As in do you bottle all of your emotions and problems up, hiding them from everyone, or do you let it all out, all your rage, your fear, etc, on people or objects?" Russia also turned to face him.

He hummed thoughtfully, before replying slowly, "When I was younger – and I mean a _lot_ younger – I used to let it out on people around me and objects – mostly trees or random objects around the house. But now…I prefer to bottle it up, and instead come here to calm down and forget about it all."

"So you prefer to forget rather than forgive or face?"

 _"_ _Now_ what do you mean?"

"You'd rather come here and forget about your problems in life, rather than face them and deal with them, and sort it out between people who have wronged you – or you have wronged – and forgive each other. Is that right?"

"Are you implying that I run away from my problems?"

"Not at all." Russia turned to face the scenery in front of him again. "Sometimes the best thing for a person to do _is_ to run away. But you escape your life and come here to lose yourself in thought, and try to forget about it all."

Scotland followed Russia's gaze. "I…suppose so. But then I have to leave here, and face it all. It's inevitable."

The Russian nodded. "Exactly. It's inevitable. But you just want a little time, even if it's only an hour or so, away from all of that. To lose yourself in nature and thought, before you're snapped back to reality."

"You seem to know a lot about this. Do you have a safe haven?"

"Yeah. I have a sunflower field a couple of miles away from my house. I go there to escape my life troubles, just like you."

"I…guess so."

"So why did you suddenly feel the need to go to your safe haven?"

Scotland let out a shaky breath and clasped his hands, dropping his gaze to his lap. "When England first saw me in his room, the _look_ on his face….it was…it was _horrified_ , as if I was a monster – which I suppose is accurate."

"You're not a monster."

"I did despicable things to my brothers – which includes Ireland and Wales, not just England. I was the oldest, and yet I took everything out on them when I should have been comforting. Wales and Ireland seemed to take after me in a way – although nowhere near as bad as me – and we ganged up on England, as a way of saying it. He defended himself from time to time, but he mostly ran away. I don't deserve to be called his brother."

Russia placed a hand on Scotland's shoulder. "You were the oldest, right? Well, that's a lot of responsibility for you, and back then, you didn't have many people to rely on. In fact, more people relied on _you_ than _you_ relied on them, if you get what I mean."

Scotland shrugged the Russian's hand off his shoulder. "But before he…tried to commit suicide, he was talking to Italy, and told him a story. But it was only _part_ of the whole story; I know the full version, but I never got the chance to tell him."

"Then why don't you tell him now?" Russia asked softly.

The Scot sighed. "I thought I would be able to, but after seeing his face…I just can't bring myself to. Besides, he got his 'revenge' on me, I guess."

"When he colonised you as part of the British Empire."

"Yeah. But it was justified. I was horrible to him when he was younger, and gave him an awful childhood – so when I became part of his empire, he was horrible to me."

"…I see." Another silence dawned upon them, until Russia once again broke it. "Do you love them?"

"Wh-what?"

"Your brothers. Do you love them?"

Scotland sighed. "Yeah. But they don't love me."

"But haven't Ireland and Wales forgiven you?"

"…"

"Well, I suppose they never _directly_ said it, but they still forgave you, right? So you only have to gain England's trust. It's not as bad as you think. Others have it worse than you." Russia looked down at his lap, as if hiding something.

"…I'm guessing you're one of the 'others'?"

The Russian nodded. "Yeah. Do you know the Baltic states?"

"Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, right?"

"Да. I thought they hated me or something – I still kind of do – so I used to ask them if they loved me – as a friend, of course."

"Okay…"

"Latvia used to shake and stutter, and was terrified. Lithuania rarely stuttered, but still trembled slightly, as if he was scared. Estonia was bitter, and acted like he hated me, even though he was still scared sometimes. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

"…Unloved?"

"Exactly. Ukraine and Belarus love me, but my subordinates – no, my _friends_ – hated me. Or at least was scared of me. People fear me, Шотландия. Do people fear you?" (Шотландия is Russian for Scotland)

"England does, at least. I suppose Ireland and Wales used to, probably. I have a bad temper, and I'm violent, and-"

"-and you're strong. You had to act tough and powerful towards your younger brothers, and that turned into a bad habit. That's the truth. I'm sure that if you and England just sat down and talked it through, then you would forgive each other. England will forgive you for everything that happened when you were younger, and you will forgive England for everything that happened in his Empire days."

"You're sure it'll work out?"

Russia nodded, a smile on his face. "Yeah."

Scotland suddenly felt a stinging at the back of his eyes, and he rubbed them. He was surprised to find out that his hand was slightly wet, as if his eyes were leaking. "Who knew you could be so sentimental?"

"You learn something new every day." Then he edged closer to the Scot and opened his arms. "Come here."

A few tears began to fall down Scotland's face as he wrapped his arms around Russia and began to cry. The Russian wrapped his arms around the Scot and held him close, allowing him to let it all out.

Little did they know, someone was leaning against the base of the tree, listening intently to the entire conversation between the two nations, and when he heard the Scot's sobs, he smiled and walked away, knowing that Russia had opened Scotland's heart up, and released the pent-up emotions and thoughts that were kept hidden from everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry about all the other-language-word-thingies in this. I enjoy writing other-language-word-thingies, but hopefully there won't be as many in other chapters.
> 
> And I looked it up, just so you know, about who's older; Scotland or Ireland. I know that Wales, England and Northern Ireland are younger than these two (Northern Ireland being the youngest, then England, then Wales), but out of Ireland and Scotland…not so much. Some people said, Ireland, others said Scotland, so I decided to put Scotland as the oldest, as in this case, he kinda needs to be the oldest.
> 
> Oh, and there was no romance between Scotland and Russia, before you start getting the wrong idea. Like I said, there's no pairings in this, and Scotland and Russia aren't usually written in a one-on-one meaningful conversation, so why not? Not to mention that - in my eyes anyway – they have a few things in common with each other.
> 
> Last thing: I'm aware that Russia may seem OOC in this chapter, but most people write him as a big, scary monster or something. Well, why can't he be emotional and sentimental as well? So before you start ranting in a comment or something, that's why.
> 
> Bye~


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

America, France and Japan returned to Scotland's house after leaving the hospital to tell the others the news – of course, Scotland had already rung his brothers, and no doubt they'd told the others, but it was a conversation starter, at least.

"Hey guys!" America greeted loudly with a cheerful wave. His hand dropped as he frowned. "Uh…where's Scottie?"

Ireland tilted his head and stood up cautiously. "He hasn't come back yet. I thought he was with you?"

"No, he went ahead of us. We never even saw him on our way here. Strange…" America looked at the floor, trying to figure out where the Scot was.

However, it was at that moment that Scotland suddenly appeared at his front door, and saw a perfect opportunity to scare America. Silently creeping up to him, the Scot raised his hands, before slamming them down on the American's shoulders in unison, shouting 'Rah!' as well.

With an ungodly shriek, America leapt forward, tripped, and fell flat on his face, where he lay twitching, as if the life had been sucked right out of him.

Laughing, Scotland closed the door and ushered France and Japan into the front room, where Wales was curiously poking America's face to check if he was dead or not.

"Where did you go, Scotland-san?" Japan asked.

"Oh, uh…I was talking to someone." He replied vaguely.

"Who?" The Japanese man frowned.

"Uh…well, that's none of your business, now is it?"

"S-sorry! I didn't mean to be nosy!"

New Zealand rolled his eyes and stood up. "Can we go see England now?"

France shook his head. "Non. Angleterre is asleep. Best not disturb him." (Non is French for No and Angleterre is French for England)

The Kiwi's nose twitched. "Well, when _can_ we see him?"

"Hmm…tomorrow?" The Frenchman suggested.

New Zealand groaned. "Ugh…but that's so _faaaar away_."

"Yes well, you'll just have to be patient." France sighed and walked past the smaller man.

* * *

~The next day~

New Zealand woke lazily, before he remembered that he was going to visit England today. Grinning, he glanced over at Australia, who was sharing a room but not a bed, and who was also still asleep, snoring quietly.

Pouncing on his neighbour, the Kiwi began roughly shaking his shoulders in an attempt to wake the sleeping nation up. It was no to avail, however, so New Zealand resorted to more…extreme measures.

Silently, he went to the bathroom and filled a small glass with ice cold water, before returning and leaning his face close to Australia's. Without warning, he poured the water onto the Australian's face, and screamed in the highest voice he could, "WAKE UP!"

It did the job, as Australia's eyes snapped open, and he began spluttering and coughing, not only from the water, but from the shock of having his ears blown off by New Zealand screaming at him.

Unfortunately, the Kiwi was so loud that he could hear Scotland yelling at them to shut up from another room.

Laughing, New Zealand got off Australia and perched himself on the edge of the bed. "In my defence, I _tried_ to wake you up by shaking your shoulders, but that didn't work, so I had to take more… _drastic_ measures."

"You could have killed me!" Australia cried, getting his breath back.

His neighbour snorted. "I doubt it." Excitement glittered in his eyes. "Anyway, we're going to see England today! C'mon, we gotta get ready! Aren't you excited?"

"…Yeah." New Zealand frowned at the dull tone in the Australian's voice.

"What's up, Aus?"

"Nothing. Let's go get ready." Sitting up, he threw the covers off of him and swung his legs over the side, nearly hitting the other occupant of the room in the process.

" _Do you mind?!"_ Was New Zealand's response to nearly getting kicked in the side.

"I could say the same to you." Australia retaliated. At the Kiwi's scowl, he rolled his eyes. "Just get dressed."

With a loud _hmph,_ New Zealand stormed over to his chest-of-drawers, grabbing a clean shirt and trousers. They didn't know how long they'd be at Scotland's, so the two Oceanic nations decided to unpack their stuff.

As soon as he got dressed, he folded his arms and watched Australia lazily walking out the room. Curiously, he followed the brunette, but stopped as entered the bathroom. Thinking he was just going to the toilet, New Zealand turned around, but when he heard the shower, he spun back to face the closed door and began banging on it, yelling at him to 'not bother with a shower', 'there's no time', etc.

However, he froze when he saw Scotland walking down the corridor half, asleep, but with tick-marks all over him and a menacing aura surrounding him.

"Didn't I tell you to…shut up?" He asked in a low, dangerous tone.

A shiver passed through New Zealand, and he timidly nodded. "Y-yeah…" When Scotland growled and took a step forward, he yelled, "Sorry! I'll be quiet-"

"If you're going to be _quiet,_ why are you _yelling_?" The Scot seemed to loom over the Kiwi, which made him feel _very_ small. Neither of them noticed the noise from the shower disappear until the door opened and Australia poked his head out, a confused expression on his face.

"Hmm? What are you guys doing here?" His hair was soaking wet, a clear sign that he was in the shower not long ago. Which also meant that he wasn't wearing anything…

Scotland tensed suddenly. "You're…in the…shower…?"

Australia frowned. "Uh…yeah. Why?"

"Before…me…?"

"I guess so."

The Scot took a step closer to the Australian, who froze at the movement, but Scotland didn't stop walking until he was mere centimetres away from the brunette…

…who in return shrieked and head-butted him, sending the Scot crashing to the floor. New Zealand watched with a horrified expression as Scotland looked as if he wanted to kill.

Instead, he shouted angrily, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"It's your fault!" Australia, equally as angry, shot back.

"How is it?! This is _my_ house; how dare you _head-butt_ me, of all things!"

"I'm _naked_ here! You don't walk up to a naked person!"

"How am _I_ meant to know that you're _naked_?!"

"It's obvious! I've just been in the _shower_ , for God's sake!"

" _Now_ who's yelling?" New Zealand muttered to himself. Unfortunately, Scotland heard, and rounded on the Kiwi.

"Excuse me, but I can yell all I want in my house, mister! However, _you_ can't!"

"Will you both bugger off and let me take my shower!" Australia shouted, uncomfortable with the fact that only a door separated his naked body and the other two.

"We do _not_ use that language in this house!" Scotland chided, to which the other man rolled his eyes.

"Yes, mum."

The Scot made a move to strangle the Australian, before a half-asleep voice interrupted them.

"Whoa dudes, what's with all the yelling? Is it time to get up already? C'mon, five more minutes?" America walked up to them, yawning and rubbing one eye.

Scotland gracefully changed course and was about to close his hands around the American's throat when New Zealand cut in.

"No, America. You can go back to bed, alright? And the yelling wasn't anything to worry about." The Kiwi gave America a subtle push in the other direction. Shrugging, the American turned and walked back the way he'd come.

"Mon Dieu, _what_ is with all this _racket_?" Suddenly, France appeared, stretching his arms above his head. (Mon Dieu is French for my God)

"Nothing, France! Australia just decided to take a shower before me, which goes against one of my policies." Scotland replied.

Australia sniggered. "You have policies?"

The Scot glared at him. "Rach a dh'ifrinn." (Rach a dh'ifrinn is Scottish-Gaelic for go to hell)

The brunette's eyes widened. "Hey, no fair! I don't understand what you said!"

"I think that's the point, Australie." France chuckled under his breath. (Australie is French for Australia) Then he raised an eyebrow. "So, what's all this commotion about? And this 'policy' of yours?"

Scotland folded his arms. "My policy – one of them, anyway – is that I must have a shower first in the morning. Before anyone else."

"Don't you have any other bathrooms?" New Zealand asked.

"I do, but I like having showers in _this_ one." He replied, before pointing at Australia. "And _this guy_ stole my shower from me this morning. _That's_ what this is all about."

"I hardly think he 'stole' your shower from you, Écosse." The Frenchman shook his head. (Écosse is French for Scotland)

"Yeah! And you missed the part out when you tried to break in here while I'm naked!" Australia exclaimed.

Scotland's forehead twitched. "I did not 'try to break in there', thank you very much. I actually wanted to intimidate you."

France's eyebrows rose. "Wait; Australie is naked in there?"

"Don't you dare move, France!" Scotland growled.

The Frenchman held a hand to his chest in a hurt impression. "Moi? Why, I wouldn't _dream_ of doing what you're implying!" (Moi is French for me)

Scotland tsked. "Sure. He says, as he grins like a bloody maniac – dammit, wipe that grin off your face!"

"C'mon Scottie; I'm sure you're thinking the same as France." Ireland remarked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, closely followed by Wales.

The Scot spluttered and turned to them. "You- how _dare_ you! I want to _kill_ Australia – I'm sure France doesn't!"

Wales completely ignored Scotland and turned to Australia. "You might want to close the door and lock it. For your own safety, y'know."

Australia nodded, and followed the Welshman's instructions. The nations outside could all hear him laughing, before the sound of the shower drowned out the noise.

"Excuse me, but why are you all stood outside the bathroom?" Japan startled them as he walked up to them, a frown on his face.

"It's not what it looks like!" Scotland cried.

The Japanese man was silent for a second, before he nodded in understanding. "Ah…I get it. Don't worry, Scotland-san, I won't tell anyone."

"Oh my God – dammit Japan!" Was all the Scot could say before Italy came running towards them.

"WHY IS EVERYONE SHOUTING?!" He cried as he flung himself at Japan, who happened to be the nearest person.

"Don't worry, Italy. Scotland's just being noisy this morning." New Zealand answered with a smirk.

The Scot growled. "You're an ass. You know that, right?"

"Could you please keep the noise down?" Canada asked, once again making everyone jump. "America's asleep, and your shouting keeps waking him up. He'll get angry soon."

Scotland was about to snap at the Canadian at his last sentence, when New Zealand cut in. "Can we just get ready, guys?"

Ireland twitched his nose. "Why? I was quite enjoying myself here."

"Is it just me, or does anyone else find it awkward that we're all stood around in only boxers except me and Japan?" The Kiwi pointed out, shifting from one foot to the other.

Immediately after, the gathered nations silently – and swiftly – left each other, heading to the rooms.

* * *

~Two hours later~

At last, they were ready to leave. Australia, New Zealand, France, Italy, Ireland, Wales and Canada, that is. It took much longer than expected, though, for them to all get ready.

And on the journey to the hospital, all the nations except Australia noticed how quiet the Australian was being. In fact, he was completely silent, which was rare. Usually, he had at least _one_ thing to say, however random it may be.

"Hey, guys? Can I nip to the shop for a minute?" Australia suddenly asked, causing New Zealand's eyes to narrow.

"Why? What for?" The Kiwi made no move to hide the suspicion in his voice.

"Just to uh…get something."

"You don't sound too sure about that." He took a step closer to Australia.

"I need to go, though. It's urgent."

"What is it?" New Zealand didn't stop approaching the Australian until he was mere centimetres away from him. Then he prodded the taller man's chest with his finger, taking slow steps forward and forcing Australia to go backwards.

"Something for England. I don't want to go in empty-handed, y'know?"

"And what are you planning on getting him?"

A faint glint of fear appeared in Australia's eyes. "Please Zea, stop. You're making me uncomfortable."

"Not until you answer my question. What are you going to get him?"

"I-I-"

"Unless of course, you're merely _stalling_. Isn't that right, Aus?"

"Wha-"

"Don't play dumb." New Zealand interrupted. "Why are you stalling?"

"Uh…maybe you should leave him alone, New Zealand." Ireland cautiously stepped towards the pair.

"Not until he answers my question." The Kiwi replied curtly.

"But he said he's uncomfortable-"

" _I don't care_!" New Zealand snapped. "I thought you wanted to see him, Aus? I thought you were desperate to see him awake? I thought that would help cure your temporary depression, so I wanted you to go see him awake and healthy as soon as possible…" He trailed off, his fire dying down.

"…Depression?" Italy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. He's just jumping to conclusions." Australia replied quickly, shooting a glance at the Kiwi, and locking eyes with him accidentally. He subtly shook his head at New Zealand, urging him to drop it.

Narrowing his eyes, New Zealand sighed under his breath before turning his back on the Australian. "Shall we get going? We wouldn't want to keep England waiting any longer."

"What about getting him something?" Canada tilted his head to the side.

The Kiwi shook his head. "We don't have time for that. Besides, I'm sure you're all itching to go see him, right?"

"Uh…yeah. C'mon then." Canada ushered the others ahead of him, although when New Zealand was about to walk past him, he held out his hand to stop him. Australia passed and joined the others.

When there was about ten metres between the pair and the rest of the group, Canada began walking. New Zealand took it as a sign to walk beside him.

"You acted quite unlike yourself just now." The Canadian remarked, keeping his voice at a quiet murmur.

The Oceanic nation didn't answer for a minute, just staring straight ahead. "Yeah…I suppose." He finally replied.

"And you said something…interesting." Canada stopped and placed both of his hands on New Zealand's shoulder, making him stop and face him. "Although Australia said you were 'jumping to conclusions', I don't think that's the case."

"…You saw how he was when we left too, huh?"

The North American nation nodded. "Yeah. And when he said he wanted to 'nip to the shop', he was stalling for time, just like you said."

"That's right."

"But you basically interrogated him and made him feel uncomfortable."

"I-I know, and that was wrong of me. I just…didn't understand _why_ he was so hesitant to go see England! I mean, you should have _heard_ the things he was saying when we visited him before!" New Zealand clenched his fists. "He was being so hard on himself…it made me mad. And worried. And…sad, I guess."

Canada smiled sympathetically and released the Kiwi's shoulders. They began walking again, as the group were far ahead and out of earshot. "I know what you mean."

"How so?"

The Canadian sighed and stared ahead. "After the American Revolution, I was conflicted. I was still part of the British Empire then, and England wasn't exactly in the most… _stable_ of moods after America left, but I still wanted to comfort him. On the other hand, America was unsure about what to do on a couple of things, and he seemed…kind of lost, in a way. So I wanted to comfort _him_ , too. But at the end of the day, I couldn't keep going between them both. 'Cause if either one found out about how nice I was being to the other, then they would be furious. I didn't want to risk that, but I also couldn't choose between them."

"I don't understand what this has to do with me."

"England acted tough and occasionally cruel, but I saw him late at night. He was distraught after the revolution, but he was too proud to admit it. He didn't want to show weakness in front of everyone, so he hid it. He hid it well." He smiled sadly. "Late at night, I would hold him, and cheer him up. He cried a lot, and I was the shoulder that he so desperately needed to cry on. But the things he said were really quite awful. He rarely insulted America though. It was usually insults about _himself._ It made me sad to hear those things. It worried me, as well. But secretly, it also angered me. I guess that was a clear sign that I should have noticed that he was getting depressed. But the thought never struck me at the time. If only I'd noticed…"

"…You had it worse than me, though."

Canada turned to face him. "How did I?"

"Because you had to choose between two of the people closest to you. Your brother, or your caretaker. Your _father_ ¸ I suppose one could say. But I don't have to choose between anyone."

"But there's still a choice you have to make."

"Wh-what?"

"You can either choose to help Australia on your own and keep his trust, or tell someone and ask them for help, which will break his trust in you. You think you can't help him on your own, but you also think that he'll lose his trust in you if you tell someone."

New Zealand sighed. "Yeah. What should I do, Canada?"

"That's a decision only you can make. But at least you confirmed my suspicions, so I can support you as subtly as possible."

The Kiwi frowned. "But I never said that Australia was depressed."

"I'm not stupid, you know." Canada replied softly. "I can see the subtle signs. I can hear the silent screams. I can smell the faint despair that follows in someone's shadow. Australia is depressed, and I want to help."

New Zealand didn't reply after that, instead quickening his pace to catch up with the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'll end it here before it gets to the good bit. 'Cause I'm mean.
> 
> Kind of a filler chapter, but it wasn't all for nought. Canada knowsssss.
> 
> Also, I've seen something where the North American Bros and the Oceanic Bros are put together, with America and Australia, and Canada and New Zealand. Not always romantically, though. I mean as in they resemble each other. In their own special ways.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Once New Zealand had caught up to the others, they entered the hospital and headed straight to England's room (after checking in with reception of course) since they knew where it was.

When the door opened, England was wide awake and turned his head to face the nations. The fact that Australia tensed slightly did not go unnoticed.

"You-you _idiot_!" Ireland yelled as he ran over, fists clenched. However, instead of hitting the bedridden Brit, he enveloped him in a tight hug. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Arturo!" Italy cried happily. "It's been too long, ve~!"

"Italy? What are you doing here- Ireland, I can't breathe." England struggled in the Irishman's grip, but to no avail.

"I'm here because I'm your _friend_ , Arturo! Don't you see? I just _had_ to come! We've all been living at Scottie's house!" The bouncy Italian replied with a large smile on his face.

England chuckled. "I don't think Scotland would like that nickname."

"No, he didn't." Wales muttered. "He tried to kill America when he found out _he_ was the creator on the nickname."

"Anyway, I'm glad to see you're awake." Canada spoke up, sitting in a chair next to England. "You really had us worried, you know."

"But that's what I don't understand." The Brit's gaze dropped to his lap.

"What don't you understand?" New Zealand asked, walking closer.

"Why all this worried you."

The room was silent, and the Kiwi cast a quick glance at Australia, who was trembling from a strong, unidentifiable emotion.

"How could it not?" Australia snapped, a little louder than intended. "It's not every day a strong nation decides to try and commit suicide, is it?!"

"Calm down!" New Zealand cried, turning his face to Australia and mouthing 'are you okay?'. He made sure that only the nation it was targeted at saw the silent message.

"Can I speak to Australia alone, please?" England queried softly.

"What for?" Ireland frowned.

"I'd just like to talk to him privately. And since I'm not allowed to leave my bed, you'll all have to step out the door, if you don't mind." He kept his voice devoid of emotion and strangely calm.

"Uh…alright then." The Irishman shrugged and walked out the door, followed by the others until England and Australia were alone.

"Come over here." The Brit indicated to the chair next to him, and the Australian cautiously obeyed. "Now, why would you think you're 'so bloody oblivious that you can't notice when someone's suffering'?"

Australia's eyes widened and his mouth dropped. "Wha-"

"While I was in a co-" He cut himself off as the brunette tensed and started again. "While I was _asleep_ , I could hear quite a lot of conversations in here. Don't think I just twiddled my thumbs for God-knows-how-long while people talked to me." He locked eyes with Australia and added, "I _do_ listen."

The Australian realised what he was implying and shook his head. "No, you've got enough to deal with. You wouldn't want to bother yourself with my stupid problems."

England edged closer to the other man and sighed. "I raised you, Australia. If no-one will listen, I will. Besides, have you ever told New Zealand any of it?"

"No, because he'd think I was being ridiculous and pathetic."

"Now why would you think that? He's the type of person who worries when someone close to him is hurting, and he'll do everything in his power to help them. So I'll ask you this. _Why_ didn't you tell New Zealand?"

He sighed. "Don't get me wrong – I've _wanted_ to tell him for a long time, but I...I just _can't_."

England hummed and hooked his index finger over his chin, just under his bottom lip, and placed his thumb under his chin in a thoughtful pose. "It seems that your depression has gone on before all this happened."

"Wha- I'm not depressed! All the things I've said about myself are true-"

" _Don't!"_ The blonde snapped. "Don't you _dare_ say that! You're not oblivious _at all_ – if you were, then you would've been killed by your animals. If you were oblivious, then you wouldn't have been able to do a lot of things that you've done in your life."

"But I-"

"Think about it this way. If you're oblivious, then I'm a plank of wood. I was unaware of America's emotions and suffering, and when I realised, it was too late. The American Revolution happened because of my obliviousness."

"No, it was because America simply wanted independence. He was brave enough to change his superior _and win._ I'm just a coward because I didn't fight for my independence."

"But you're independent now."

"Yes, but-"

The Brit raised his hand to silence Australia. "Anyway, we're getting off-topic here. So, tell me. When did your depression start?"

"I don't have depression!"

"Okay, let me word it another way. When did you first start feeling like you were oblivious and cowardly?"

"Uh…I can't remember."

 _Not good,_ England thought. He opened his mouth to reply but Australia beat him to it.

"My first race of people were Aboriginals, right? A horrible way of referring to them is as 'wild animals', mostly because they were more connected to nature than other people from other countries. My second race of people were British convicts-"

"-which were shipped from Britain to your country. I treated your land as nothing but a giant prison cell." When he got no protest or even a response from the Oceanic nation, he continued. "I shouldn't have done that. It was unfair to ship nothing but _criminals_ over to your country."

"You did what you had to. But that's in the past, anyway."

"You can't forget the past. If you forget our history, then you'll make the same mistakes as before in the future. However, that's irrelevant right now. Please, just let me help you. I want to help you, so why won't you let me?"

"Because I'm alone!"

England narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Australia sighed and looked down. "I don't get many nations visiting my country. Zea does a lot, though, and Indonesia comes every so often, and very occasionally America will come and try not to get killed. It's a little game he has. But you…you rarely visit me, and if you do, it's usually only on business. I feel so lonely, don't you see? You're surrounded by nations, but I have Zea and Nesia and that's it."

"'Nesia'?" England echoed.

"Indonesia, New Zealand and I shorten each others' names to Nesia, Zea and Aus. Indonesia came up with it – she's great when it comes to naming things." He explained, smiling slightly as he remembered the time when the female nation had created their nicknames.

"Okay then." The Brit nodded, snapping Australia back to the present. "But that contradicts your statement that 'you're alone'. You have at least two people close to you, right? So you're not alone, are you?"

"But I at least _feel_ alone. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, but I do." He sighed wearily. "When the British Empire fell, do you think people cosied up to me? Do you think they said 'you killed lots of people and conquered many places, but I'll forgive you for everything you've done'? No, they didn't. They gave me a…wide berth, or sorts. The majority of the world is fine with me now, but you can't forget what I did in my Empire days. I felt alone then, you know. It's not just me or you, though. Every country has their bad moments that they wish to forget about. Nobody's perfect. Not even countries."

"I'm aware of that, but still. I'm dangerous."

"How are you?! Sure, you're… _adventurous,_ but that's more bravery and confidence, not danger!"

"Here's a fun little fact for you, England." Australia spat bitterly, leaning forward. "21 out of 25 of the most venomous snakes in the world come from Australia. Come from _my_ country. And you say I'm _not_ dangerous?"

"Yes, but _you_ are not a giant, poisonous snake, are you? Therefore, you are _not_ dangerous."

The Australian mumbled something inaudible under his breath. England narrowed his eyes.

"What did you say?" The Brit asked.

"I said it would be better if I don't exist." He replied in a quiet voice.

"What?!" The blonde exploded. "Are you crazy?!"

"Just…hear me out."

"…Fine."

"Think about it; if I never existed, then a lot of dangerous animals wouldn't exist! A lot of people would be spared from deaths by animals, illnesses, heat and natural disasters!"

"They happen regardless of where you are! Remember the Black Death that wiped out about 25 _million_ people? _That's_ a lot of deaths due to an _illness_ , but no nation thinks it would be better if they never existed!"

"Yeah but-"

"It's not just hot in your country you know – countries get heatwaves all over the place – except my country, but let's not go into that. My point is, people die because of animals, illnesses, heat and natural disasters in most places of the world! You're not the only one – you just add to the list!"

"But-"

"Let me get something straight." England interrupted in an oddly calm voice. "Do you _think_ it would be better if you didn't exist, or do you _wish_ you don't exist?"

Australia opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish.

"I happen to be both. If I never existed, then the British Empire never would have existed, and a lot of things would have been different. I _wished_ I didn't exist, and that was one of the reasons that I never told anyone about which lead to my attempted suicide. If only I didn't have the curse of being a nation, I would be dead by now. Did you ever realise that?" The Brit winced at how bitter he sounded as he basically spat every word out, and instantly regretted it as Australia took a shaky breath and tensed.

"I-" England tried to say, but was cut off by the brunette.

"I understand. Don't worry."

"Understand…what?" No reply. "Australia, answer me. What do you mean?"

The taller man looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "You don't want to be a nation."

"Wha-?! I never said that!"

"But you _implied_ it. At least I can notice _one_ thing. You said 'the curse of a nation'. Most people would say it's a gift. An honour. But you call it a curse. Which is what I'd call it, to be honest."

"I-" England sighed. "I won't deny it. I have often wondered whether being a nation is a gift or a curse. We always have such a massive burden that we must bear every single _second_ of our lives. Our lives, which is full of suffering, pain and pressure. Sure, we have joy, happiness, satisfaction, but there is often more negative aspects rather than positive ones."

"Exactly! Our existence is merely the Devil's handiwork-"

"That's where you're wrong."

"Huh?"

"The Devil may not exist as a ruler of hell or whatnot. That's part of a religion that humans created. It may be true, it may not. No, the Devils that walk around are evil, despicable people who have threatened humanity or the world, and most you'll find think that what they're doing is for the _good_ of the world or it's the _right_ thing to do. However, I suppose you _could_ say that we are the Devil's handiwork."

"How? Aren't you just contradicting yourself now?"

England waved his hand. "Not at all. However, we represent our country. And the dominant species in every country is _humans_. That may be the reason why we appear human on the outside. If, for example, _chickens_ were the dominant species on the planet, then all of us nations may very well look like chickens. So when our countries were first 'created', they were named and founded by humans – usually explorers. When a nation is born, its usually because humans inhabit it. Therefore, if a truly despicable person founded a country, then the nation belonging to it could very well be referred to as 'the Devil's handiwork'."

"But no-one's called 'the Devil's handiwork' that I know of." Australia frowned.

"Which is a good thing. But sometimes, humanity as a whole is called that, or something similar, because we have fought wars, killed wildlife, built upon the ground – destroying habitats – and all around disrupted the cycle of nature. If humans never existed, then the world will probably be a better place. And since we resemble humans, and since we have helped in all of these things, then I suppose we are also lumped in with humanity. Do you get me?"

The brunette slowly nodded. "I…suppose so. But what does this have to do with me?"

"Simple. This is applied to the question that many of us ask ourselves: is being a nation a gift or a curse? When you apply the reasoning behind 'the Devil's handiwork' here, it would lean more towards 'curse'." England pointed at Australia. " _You_ lean more towards 'curse' rather than 'gift'. That leads to you thinking that it would be better if you never existed."

"Which is true."

"Which is false."

"You have no evidence to back that up. But I have plenty of evidence."

"Then let me explain."

"…Fine."

"Farmers."

"What?" _Did I hear that wrong?_ Australia thought.

"What would the world be like without farmers?"

"Uh…no crops, I guess. And…no cattle?"

"Yes. Anyone who works with cattle and grows crops can technically be called 'farmers'. So, if farmers never existed, then we wouldn't have crops like potatoes and wheat."

"Okay…I don't see your point."

"Let me finish my point then." England took a deep breath before saying simply, "Builders."

"What about them?"

"What would the world be like without builders?"

"Uh…no houses, but that's all."

"That's where you're wrong. Houses are a major aspect of being a builder, but anyone who builds objects such as fences, buildings, walls, etc can be called 'builders'. So, if builders never existed, then we wouldn't have fences separating our houses, or houses at all. We'd all be living on the floor or in trees and whatnot."

"But what has builders and farmers got to do with-"

"Hang on. You'll see soon. Next one: civilians."

"Let me guess; 'what would the world be like without civilians?'"

"That's right. So, answer it."

"Uh…"

"Think about it – businesses need civilians to buy their products, or just spend their money. Civilians are usually required for voting, as well. So, if civilians never existed, then businesses wouldn't thrive, and voting wouldn't be possible except if only the government voted, which is hardly fair."

"Well, I get that, but-"

"Last one."

Australia frowned. "…Okay."

"What would the world be like without nations?"

"Huh? But our identity is kept secret, so-"

"No, we have human names which we use as… _alibis_ of sorts. To cover up the fact that we're _really_ named after the countries that people live in. We're involved in political acts, but only look like an important person with lots of authority. Only our bosses know who…or rather _what,_ we really are."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So, answer the question."

"Uh…I don't know. It's hard to answer."

England let a small smile play on his lips. "We help out with political acts and issues. We lead armies to battle. We help take care of our economy as much as we can. We lessen the burdens on our bosses' shoulders. We devote our _lives_ to our country, just like any loyal soldier. You're familiar with chess, right?"

"Y-yeah. Why?"

"Think about it this way. Our boss is the king. He's targeted by the opposing side in order to win. He can't move much, and is guarded greatly. Other sacrifice themselves for the king. The pawns are the soldiers, that are the first line of defence. They can only move forward. They can't retreat – they fight to the _death_ for their country. The rooks, bishops and knights are generals and government officials that have lots of authority and can move in a good many directions. I suppose you could say the knights and bishops are the government officials. They can get blocked and cornered, but they can also step with authority as they move against the enemy. The rooks are the generals, that can move in four directions for a long way. Sure, they get blocked, but they fight to the death."

Australia frowned, leaning forward slightly in interest.

"And then that leaves the queen." England continued. "The queen can move in every direction, and often sacrifices herself for the king. The queen is by far the most powerful piece on the board. The queen is us, Australia. Nations are the queens on the chess board. The only difference is that queens can be killed. We can't. We suffer fatal blows, but we recover. However, we can still get blocker, cornered and taken. Except, we can evade and escape. We could be the most powerful people in our countries if we ruled the country. Instead, we hand first place to our bosses, who influence our country greatly. We are still second place, however, just because we are immortal beings who always have a good idea about what goes off in our countries. Get it?"

"Y-yeah, but-"

"So, if nations never existed, then all that would be for nought. Mere humans would lead armies to battle, with a fairly high chance of death. And you know what they say: if the leader is killed, the subordinates will lose the will to fight. But we can get a sword through the chest and still survive. Not just that though; we know a lot of things that happens in our countries, so when a discussion occurs over what choice to make for something important, we can be there to steer them in the right direction."

"…"

"So if farmers, builders, civilians and nations never existed, then the world would be a very different place – and probably one no-one would want to live in."

"…Right…"

"So don't say that the world would be better if you didn't exist, because that's not true. You're one of the main support pillars that hold up the country, as a way of speaking."

Australia began trembling, and England frowned. _Have I angered him?_ He thought.

However, that wasn't the case, as tears sprang from the Australian's eyes as he leapt forward and embrace the Brit in a tight hug.

 _Ah, I didn't anger him at all. I showed him reason._ England thought as he returned the hug.

"Let it all out, Australia. There's a good lad." The blonde, bedridden Brit murmured as he embraced his crying 'son'.

* * *

It took a further fifteen minutes before Australia stopped crying, and by then, England was exhausted.

"Can you and the others leave and come back later or tomorrow or something?" England asked. "I'm awfully tired."

"S-sure." The brunette stood up, and began to walk to the door. Over his shoulder, he murmured, "Thank you. F-for everything."

With that, he opened the door and froze as he saw the nations outside crying, bodies pressed against the wall.

New Zealand noticed him first. "Aus!" He wrapped his arms around the Australian. "Awwww!" Was all the Kiwi could manage as the tears kept running down his face. "That last line! Awwww!"

"Dammit, you made me cry, Australia." Ireland muttered, furiously wiping his eyes.

"Were…were you guys listening?" Australia asked timidly.

"To every word." Canada smiled softly. "Although it was hard to hear some parts, but we managed."

"Uh…okay then. England said he was tired, and asked if we could all go." He informed, even though he knew that they probably knew that.

"Yeah, alright. Just…hang on a minute." Wales waved his hand around as he tried to stop crying.

A nurse walked past, and frowned at the sight of a bunch of sobbing nations. "Uh…excuse me, but why are you crying? Oh, is someone dead?"

"Wah! It was so sad, ve~!" Italy cried, attempting to hug her whilst pointing at Australia. "He made us cry!"

"O…kay. You're being awfully loud, so could you either quieten down or leave please?" She asked.

"We were just about to, don't worry." Australia wriggled out of New Zealand's grip and walked over to the nurse, before leaning down and whispering in her ear, "Just don't ask. They were eavesdropping on a _private_ conversation, that's all." He made sure to raise his voice on 'private', loud enough for the others to hear.

Nodding, she walked away, and the Australian beckoned for the others to follow him to the exit.

They walked in silence, although there were some whispers and sobs as they exited the hospital.

Canada fell into step beside New Zealand, and leant over to whisper, "Well, that went well, I reckon."

The Kiwi nodded. "Yeah. I think Australia's going to be just fine. I hope, anyway."

* * *

England chuckled to himself and laid back in bed, gazing up at the ceiling, and thought one thing with determination blazing in his eyes.

_I won't give up on you, Australia. I promise._

With that, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The feels. I kid you not, I cried when I wrote this. How? Because I'm a sucker for angsty stuff, especially stuff that'll make me cry.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Once the six nations arrived back at Scotland's house, Italy immediately ran to Japan and all but _leapt_ on the unsuspecting nation, tears rolling down his cheeks and wailing about Australia making him cry. Of course, he was extremely loud, so everyone else heard him.

"Oh God, what did you this time?" America put his hands on his hips as he raised an eyebrow at Australia.

"That is _none_ of _your_ business, America." New Zealand snapped, standing between the two.

"Uh…okay then." Shrugging, the American noticed Canada and grinned at him. "Hey bro! So, how'd it go?"

Canada sighed and shook his head, albeit smiling. "Just fine, America. You would know if you'd come with us like you were _supposed_ to instead of running away with the others."

America stuttered as he tried to come up with a coherent sentence, before simply huffing and walking away.

"You know, we never actually decided something important." Scotland suddenly spoke up, catching the attention of everyone, who turned to face him.

"Like what?" France tilted his head to the side in confusion.

"Who's gonna drive England from the hospital?"

It only took about three seconds for that question to sink in before they were all arguing deafeningly with each other.

"Alright, alright!" The Scot raised his hands in an attempt to get them under control. When that didn't work, he opted for a more… _aggressive_ approach. "Oi!" He bellowed. "Shut it, ye noisy beggars!"

It worked, but America soon started laughing and pointing at him. "You said 'ye'! Instead of 'you'! And-and you-" The rest of his next comment was cut off by Scotland strangling the American.

"Don't you _dare_ make fun of my accent, _America_ , or I will show you no mercy!" He spat before glaring at the others.

"Hey, don't worry mate, none of us are gonna make fun of your accent; America's the only asshole here!" Australia raised his hands to show he meant no harm as he spoke.

"I'm no-t an assho-le – dude, I ca-n't brea-the!" America choked out as the grip got tighter.

"Good." Was all the Scot said, with no emotion in his voice.

"Okay, let's all calm down. Scotland-san, please release America-san from your chokehold. I think it's actually working. And America-san, apologise to Scotland-san for making fun of him." Japan instructed calmly.

Grumbling, Scotland obeyed him and America fell to his knees, panting. "S-sorry." He gasped breathlessly, rubbing his throat.

"So, who _is_ gonna get England?" Ireland asked, glancing round.

"Since he's coming to _my_ house, I think it's only fitting for _me_ to get him." Scotland proposed.

"Whoa dude, that is _so_ not fair!" America protested.

"I will get him." France stated, surprising them all.

"Huh? Why you, France?" New Zealand frowned.

"Well, because I've known him for a long time and I'll tell you this now – I'm one of the best options that he'd want here." The Frenchman explained.

"'One of the best options'? Who're the others?" Wales asked curiously.

The blonde hummed thoughtfully before ticking names off his fingers. "Me, New Zealand, Canada, Japan and-" He cut himself off before he said the last name, biting his lip.

"I bet I'm the last one, right?" America grinned, but it faded as France shook his head.

"No, but…I'm not going to finish what I was saying. You'll know when Anglete-I mean, England – wants you to know." He clapped his hands together as he changed the subject to his original statement. "So it's decided; I will drive England here when he's discharged, oui?" (Oui is French for yes and France was about to say 'Angleterre', which is French for England)

America frowned. "Do you need the toilet or something?"

France stared at him before understanding and narrowing his eyes. "I said 'oui', not 'wee', thank you very _much_ , America, and are you making fun of my language?"

"N-no, I was just-"

"Because if you are, then I'll assist Scotland in strangling the life out of you."

Scotland grinned, and flexed his fingers, making America shudder.

"Uh…n-no, I meant nothing by it. I…just heard you wrong, yeah?" The American stuttered.

France chuckled. "Relax, America."

"He'll be coming home soon, won't he, ve~?" Italy whispered to Japan.

The eastern nation smiled and nodded. "That's right. England-san's going to be just fine, I know it."

The Italian beamed. "Great! I'll go make some pasta, then!"

* * *

~Discharge Day~

It was late morning when France left, nearly 11:30. The journey from Scotland's house to England's hospital room seemed to be nothing more than a blur, as if the Frenchman was in autopilot.

"France? What are you doing here?" That snapped him out of his daze, and he beamed at the sight of England sat up and frowning at him.

"Ah! England! You're being discharged today, remember? So I came to get you!"

"And take me where? I have a strong feeling that you're not going to drop me off at my house. Is that correct?" The Brit asked, with faint traces of suspicion in his voice.

"Now, why would I leave you alone?" The cheerfulness in his voice disappeared as he added in a low voice, "One of the worst things to do to a depressed person is to leave them alone to their thoughts." However, he quickly recovered his positivity. "No, you're going to Scotland's house! The whole gang's there, you see, so we can make sure you don't be a bad boy."

England hummed in slight amusement. "You sounded like Russia a bit then." His face darkened. "But what do you mean by 'the whole gang'?"

"Simple: everyone that's come to see you, of course – when you were awake, I mean. We're all crashing at Scotland's house, waiting for you to wake up!"

"What about Rus- I mean-"

"No, Russia's not there. I found it surprising that he was there, to be honest. Apparently he ran into the others that first came to see you. Why was he here? Do you know?"

"Just visiting, is all."

"Hmm…" Then a question struck France. "By the way, could you hear anything while you were in a coma? Like, conversations or anything?"

Unsure of how to answer, England simply asked, "Why?"

France unceremoniously fell into the nearest chair and slouched. "'Cause Scotland was boasting about how he'd managed to get you to talk."

"Uh…yeah, that did happen."

"Really?" He perked up slightly. "What did you say?"

The Brit tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think I told him to 'shut up' or something."

The continental nation laughed. "I'll be sure to tell him that. I can imagine his face!" After he finished laughing, he got serious. "But I think it's high time we got you back into your normal clothes and back where you belong." He held up a plastic bag with jeans, shoes, a t-shirt and a jacket in them. "I brought these since your other clothes may have blood on them. I'm aware that someone probably would have washed them, but still. Make sense?"

"Not really." Despite this, England had pulled back the covers and grabbed the bag, before pushing France out the door so he could get changed in peace.

* * *

It didn't take long until England, dressed in his own clothes, walked out of the room.

"That was fast! Anyway, let's go, yeah? You've been gone for too long."

Reluctantly, England agreed, and the pair set off towards the exit, but not before briefly going to reception and signing the discharge papers.

"Why did you take the car?" The Brit asked as he stood before the car.

"Because I didn't want to risk walking with your weak lamb legs." France unlocked it and climbed into the driver's seat.

"'Lamb legs'?" England echoed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Now, are you going to stand out there all day or get in?"

He grumbled something under his breath as he sat in the passenger seat, before frowning at something that looked like a dent on the bonnet. "Why is there a dent?"

"Hmm? Oh, that was when Scotland picked America up from the airport. Turns out, they're not the greatest drivers."

"Ah. I see." The engine rumbled to life and the car accelerated forward.

There was a short silence, before England muttered, "So, you drew the short stick, huh?"

"'Short stick'? What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm sure no-one wanted to get me."

France slammed the brakes on so forcefully that the screeching of tyres was deafening.

"Are you crazy?! Are you _trying_ to kill us?!" The Brit yelled.

"Are _you_ crazy?! They were arguing so much over who was going to go because they all _wanted_ to come and get you! In the end, I won by saying I know how you'd want to pick you up."

The island nation tensed. "Did you say them?" He asked in a cautious tone.

"Don't worry, I didn't say the last one. I did say the others."

"Repeat what you said. Word for word. Now."

"Let me pull over first then." He indicated left before temporarily parking on the kerb, near a tree.

"Did you say it to everyone?"

"Yeah." He took a deep breath before repeating, "I said 'Me, New Zealand, Canada, Japan and-' and then I stopped there. They got a bit suspicious, but I didn't say his name."

"Was he there?"

France nodded. "Yes, but I don't think he suspects that it was him."

"Good." England sighed with relief. "I don't want him to find out that I feel comfortable around him. God, I'd never hear the end of it; and imagine the others' reactions!"

The Frenchman reached over and patted the Brit's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry; you and I are the only people who know. And you can trust me, can't you?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

France brightened up. "Good. Now, we better get going before they start wondering where we've gone!"

"…Alright."

He noticed his reluctance easily. "Oh c'mon, it'll be great! Trust me, nothing bad will happen."

"You've just jinxed it."

"Ah well, that's what you think. I have a… _magic touch,_ you see." He winked.

England rolled his eyes. "Sure. If you have a 'magic touch', then I must be bloody Merlin."

"Er…who is 'Merlin'?"

A menacing aura seemed to fill the car in seconds. "Say that again and you will be forever cursed in the worst ways."

"O-okay then."

Huffing, the Brit turned his head to gaze out the window, conflicted between looking forward to arriving at Scotland's house and dreading it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please don't take any offence by America mocking Scotland's accent. I have a messed-up accent, as in I'm British, but my accent changes to all sorts without warning. There's really posh English, Cockney, Scottish, Irish, German, Italian, Finnish, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Australian, American and Canadian. At least.
> 
> Now, I don't know why, but a few days ago I was talking to someone, and one of my sentences had such a messed-up accent change that it went from Australian to Cockney to Scottish. In one goddamn sentence. Completely unintentional. 
> 
> However, I think it probably started being weird when I watched Hetalia and heard so many different accents and then my accent began changing all over the place, y'know?
> 
> Oh, and on the topic of accents (don't worry; last thing til I go hibernate), one of my life goals is to come across an accent which I can't stand. You know how people say that there's at least one accent that annoys them? Well, I have yet to find one that annoys me, since I love all accents. Do you guys find any accents annoying? I'd love to know. Just 'cause.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

For England, it seemed that the journey from the hospital to Scotland's house was far too quick. In fact, he was deep in thought for so long after his conversation with France that at first, he didn't recognise the house before him until the car slowed to a halt.

"Angleterre?" France shook his shoulder lightly. "We're here."

"Hmm? Wha- oh, right. Sorry." England shook his head to clear his thoughts and undid the buckle of his seatbelt.

The other man smiled softly. "What do you have to apologize for?" He took off his seatbelt and opened the car door. "Now come on; they're expecting us. We wouldn't want to make them wait, now would we?"

"N-no, I guess not." He stammered slightly as he climbed out the car.

"You seem nervous. Any particular reason why?" France tilted his head to the side with a questioning gaze.

The Brit sighed. "I-"

However, that was as far as he got as the door was swung open so forcefully that it almost flew off its hinges, revealing America standing in the doorway, a huge grin on his face. "IGGY!" He yelled as he leapt over to England in a few bounds and, without warning, hugged him.

"A-America!" Was all the shorter man could say as the American held his head close to his chest. England could hear America's heartbeat thudding against his chest loudly. But then his instinctive defence kicked in, and he began struggling to escape. "You…g-git…let me go!" His voice rose in volume, and America obeyed, stepping back slightly and locking eyes with England.

"Why? Can't I hug you anymore?" He said with a small smile as if he was fine, but his eyes betrayed him by clearly reflecting his sadness and hurt.

"I-"

"Let me rephrase that." The American interrupted. "Why can't I hug you anymore?"

"…"

America sighed sadly, turning away. "You know, you can lower your guard sometimes. It's not like if you do that, then everyone around you will suddenly attack you." He turned his head slightly so his right eye looked at England. "The world isn't against you. _You're_ against the _world_." With that, he turned back and walked back inside the house, shutting the door behind him.

England, still shocked by what had just happened, watched the American leave and France go around the car to him.

"You know, it would be beneficial to take his advice." The Frenchman murmured in his ear, before closing the car door that England had left open and locking the car.

"Uh…" Shaking his head, England followed France to the front door, before takin a deep breath, and stepping forward when France opened it, revealing all the nations inside. He was greeted by various names, such as 'Arturo', 'Asa-san' and 'England'.

"H-hello." He stuttered, gaze on the floor as he timidly raised a hand as a sort of wave, suddenly feel overwhelmed by the nations' cheerfulness.

His eyes widened when strong arms wrapped around him and all but hoisted him off the ground in a bone-breaking hug. _So warm,_ England couldn't help thinking as he unwillingly leant into the hug a bit.

"I'm so glad you're outta that stuffy hospital mate!" The owner of the arms laughed before setting the shorter man back to the ground and releasing his embrace.

"Hello to you too, Australia." England muttered, but he couldn't keep a tiny smile off his face.

"I missed you too, you know." New Zealand stepped forward, grinning. "But I'm not going to squeeze the life outta you like Aus here."

England nodded and turned to shut the door, only to find that France had already shut it. Surprised, he turned back, and was met with the sight of the nations before him moving to either side, revealing the front room to him for the first time as they'd been blocking his view before.

Banners stretched across the doorways and one large one draped from the ceiling, saying in bold, colourful letters 'congratulations on your recovery!'. They were hand-made as well, he noticed. There was a massive cake on the coffee table, surrounded by plastic plates and cups. There was a pile of presents near the fireplace, and more chairs had been brought out than there usually was. He also noticed a mound of photo albums not far from the presents. All in all, England was completely taken-aback by what they had done for him.

In perfect unison, the group spread their arms out, positioning themselves to create a passage between two rows of nations, and with broad grins on their faces, said, "Congratulations on your recovery!" It was the same message as the one on the banners.

England was too choked up with emotion to speak, instead placing a shaky hand over his mouth as he fought to contain his tears. Slowly, he walked forward, passing each of the nations two at a time.

Once he'd passed them all, he spoke at last. "Wh-why…?"

They lowered their arms and walked over. Canada spoke first. "Why what?"

"Why…did you do all this…f-for me?"

"Because you're precious to us, and we love you." Wales replied in a firm voice. "Is it wrong to throw a party for a loved one who's just recovered?"

"N-no, but-"

"But what? You think you should be an exception to that? You think you shouldn't be considered a 'loved one'?" He took a step forward.

"N-no, but-" England was cut off again.

"You think you don't deserve all this? You think you're unworthy of something as small as a _party_? In honour of _your_ recovery from _your_ actions?"

"Wales…" France murmured in a warning tone as he frowned and stepped closer to the Welshman.

But he took no notice of France and was now only a foot away from the Brit. "You think you don't even deserve our love? Our time? Is that it?"

"Wh-what? No-" But England froze as his older brother placed either hand on the blonde's shoulders.

"Rydym wrth ein bodd i chi, Lloegr." He said in his own language. After a pause, he added, "Peidiwch byth ag anghofio bod."

England gasped slightly as he translated Wales' words. "R-really? You do?"

"Ydw." Wales answered, still speaking his native tongue.

"Then I won't forget."

"Uh, English please?" America piped up, confused. "I can't understand anything you just said."

"I said 'We love you, England." Wales translated, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. "Then I added 'Never forget that'."

"Oh, okay." America nodded, but then frowned again. "So what's 'ye-do' or whatever you said after?"

The Welshman's eye twitched slightly. " _Ydw_. It means yes. 'Ye-do' isn't even a word."

"Sorry." The American laughed as he apologized. Then he grew serious. "But I second what Wales said, y'know. Without you, I wouldn't be where I am now. That's a fact."

"Guys, guys, don't start being all emotional!" Scotland slung his arm round Wales' shoulders. "That's for later, when I tell you guys a story. So, for now, let's party!"

The party itself was mainly loud music, people arguing over which song to play next, drinks – both alcoholic and non-alcoholic – and lots of food. America had brought burgers with him, Canada had brought pancakes, Italy had brought pasta, etc.

It raged on for a good few hours, until Scotland told them all to go sit down in the front room.

Confused, New Zealand asked, "Why?"

To which Scotland replied with a simple "Because," and left it at that.

Shrugging, the Kiwi headed towards the sofa, where Australia and Canada were chatting away. He wedged himself inbetween the two and waited as the others sat down in the many chairs that decorated the room. Scotland sat on the massive armchair that faced all the others.

"Okay, so I've gathered you here to tell you something – mostly England, though." He began, before turning to the Brit. "You don't know about this, by the way. This is the first time you'll know, but I think it's time I tell you."

England frowned. "Tell me what?"

Scotland ignored the question, instead askign one of his own. "When Italy came to visit you, you told him a story, didn't you?"

"Uh, yeah – wait, how did you-"

"I overheard what you said, and let me tell you this; that was only _part_ of the story. Remember the king's favourite vase?"

The blonde froze and paled slightly. "You mean...from earlier that morning in the story I told?" The Scot nodded. "Wh-what about it?"

"I'm gonna tell you before and after your bit of the story. First, before (obviously)."

* * *

~Flashback~

 _Young Scotland walked down the corridor of the castle where the king lived. He was a rather angry man, and when something of his broke, his rage would explode and he would take it out on whoever was responsible. Of course, if_ he _was the one that broke it, he'd merely take it out on the nearest person._

_Wales and Ireland, Scotland's two younger brothers, seemed to be heavily influenced by what Scotland did and how he acted, and that was something that he really liked. It was nice to have two loyal brothers._

_But then there was the youngest of the four. England. He, although little, acted like he was strong, when his movements could be restricted just by being picked up. However, Scotland still cared for him, and sometimes, the older sibling has to take the hit for the younger one._

_"_ _Alba!" The king roared, startling Scotland. 'Alba' was his name in Gaelic, and the king seemed to use it when he was angry or wanted something. It irritated Scotland at times, but he couldn't say that; after all, this_ was _the king he was talking about._

_Turning round, Scotland cocked his head to the side as the king marched up to him, crown slightly crooked on his head._

_"_ _Alba!" He repeated. "Explain_ this _to me!" He held up his hand, showing the remains of a detailed, beautiful vase._ His favourite vase _, Scotland noted to himself._ This is going to be a pain to handle.

_"_ _What happened?" At the king's thunderous expression, he added, "Your Majesty?"_

_"_ _You tell me! I found it like this, so obviously one of you broke it!"_

_"_ _That's an unfair assumption." It slipped out before Scotland could stop it._

_In one swift move, the king had backhanded him across the face, none too gently. "How_ dare _you say that! Are you saying that I'm wrong?!"_

_Rubbing his cheek, he held back a rude comment, instead opting to play innocent. "Well, I didn't break it, and I think Wales and Ireland are having breakfast, so it can't have been them. They would have told me."_

_"…_ _And what of your other brother? The little blonde brat?"_

_Scotland's nose twitched at the name the king called England. "I'm not sure. I think he's playing outside. He might have accidentally knocked it or-"_

_"_ _Tch." The king turned away. "Find him. Get Wales and Ireland to help you if you must._ Now _."_

_Nodding, Scotland ran to the dining room, where he knew his brothers would be. He hoped that they wouldn't notice the red mark on his face._

_Sure enough, Wales and Ireland were sat nearly_ on _the table, eating whatever they could get their hands on._

_"_ _Wales! Ireland! I need your help!" He winced at the pain that shouting brought him._

_Immediately, the two perked up, running over to him. Ireland looked like a twelve-year-old, whereas Wales looked like a ten-year-old. Scotland, on the other hand, resembled a fifteen-year-old, so he crouched down to let Wales hug him._

_"_ _What do you need help with?" Ireland asked, an excited grin on his face._

_"_ _I need to find someone." That only made the Irishman happier, as he loved treasure hunts, and searching for someone was like a treasure hunt in his eyes._

_"_ _Who? Who?" Wales piped up, also seeming excited._

_"_ _England. But first, let me ask you something." Scotland broke the hug with Wales and stared at them seriously. "Did either of you break the king's favourite vase?"_

_They shook their heads. Wales squeaked in fright, though. "Is he angry? Is he going to punish us for being bad again?"_

_The Scot hated the fact that Wales said 'again'. Resisting the urge to clench his fists, he shook his head and smiled softly at them. "No, don't worry. You'll be fine. We just need to find England and ask him if_ he _broke it. If he says no, then we can go to the king and say that none of us broke it. Okay?"_

_Nodding, the two followed him as he left the dining room and headed outside, where he knew England would be. There was a hill and a forest not far from the castle, where he seemed to love going._

_On the way, Scotland told them that there might be enemies about, so they had to be on their guard. He also said that they had to act tough and seem like they didn't care about England. The king had drilled into Scotland that showing affection in the open, where enemies might see you, was a massive weakness and the enemy could use it against you. Wales and Ireland also knew this, and obeyed the rule, but England never seemed to. The only way to make him understand was to quite possibly mentally and physically break him. Otherwise, it would only make him regret it later on._

_~End of flashback~_

* * *

Scotland took a deep breath, waiting for some sort of angry response after the last part.

But he was only met with silence.

"Whoa dude, what happens next?" America asked, not out of excitement, but of curiosity.

"Hang on." Everyone's attention turned to England. "I remember how you three insulted me, and Scotland, you stamped on my bad ankle. Why?"

"I was getting to that part."

* * *

~Flashback~

_They soon caught sight of England, with a cloak around him, staring out across the land. Scotland, who was a lot taller than the others, was ahead and yelled, "Hey Artie, you here, lad?" He bit back a wince and not only the sting in his cheek, but also the way England tensed. Was he afraid of him?_

_To make things worse, England turned and made a run for it, as if trying to escape them. This really hurt Scotland, knowing that his own brother seemed to fear him._

_Chasing him, the Scot barely noticed that Wales and Ireland had fallen behind, as he was so determined to catch up to his youngest brother._

_Now in the woods, he cursed under his breath as he heard a thud from up ahead. As he rounded the corner, he saw England on the floor. As soon as the blonde saw him, he frantically tried to climb the nearest tree, and Scotland slowed to a walk and approached him. Wales and Ireland were yelling insults in their own languages, but Scotland knew more than anything that they didn't want to._

_When England started climbing the tree and nearly got to the lowest branch, the Scot knew he had to stop him. Reaching up, he grabbed his ankle, and yanked it down, attempting to get England low enough so that he could pick him up. Instead, he lost his footing and fell, and Scotland was too slow to react._

_He nearly bent down to help England when he heard the yelp that escaped the blonde's mouth before he remembered that he had to act tough. Taking a deep breath, Scotland grabbed the collar of England's cloak and lifted him up, well aware that it was choking him._

_"_ _What do you think you're doing, running away and all that?" He asked in a threatening tone._

_"_ _Can't…breathe…put…me…down…" England gasped out, and Scotland couldn't take it anymore. Letting go of his collar, he winced as his brother landed on his feet, making his ankle worse._

_Then Wales and Ireland arrived, having caught up, and kept insulting him. The Scot noticed the waver in their voices, Wales especially. What a cruel world they lived in._

_Scotland narrowed his eyes as he spotted the swelling and bruising that was appearing on England's ankle._ He's in pain, _he thought,_ I'll have to put him out of his misery.

 _England, who was whimpering in both fright and pain, seemed to think that Scotland had narrowed his eyes because he hated the sound of his whimpering, which was half-right, just in a different context to what the small blonde thought. He hated the sound because it was his brother that was making that noise, and that not only was he hurt, but he was_ afraid _of Scotland._

_Taking a deep breath, the eldest brother raised his foot, before slamming it down on England's injured ankle, knowing that the pain would make the Brit pass out._

_The agonized scream that followed made Scotland feel sick. Concern etched itself onto his features as he slowly knelt beside England, who was on the verge of unconsciousness. Wales and Ireland fell silent, Wales whimpering quietly. And then England passed out, and Wales burst into tears._

_"_ _E-England, I'm s-sorry!" He cried, and Ireland clamped a hand over his mouth._

_"_ _Shh!" Ireland hissed, before glancing at Scotland, who gently picked England up and cradled him in his arms, as if he was a baby. "We forgot to ask him about the vase." The Irishman stated._

_"_ _Don't worry; I have a plan." Scotland replied, walking past them and causing the teary-eyed Wales and Ireland to follow him. "Wales, Ireland, I want you two to take England and go to my room. Lock it behind you and tend to his ankle – I don't think it's broken, though. Just badly sprained, possibly."_

_The walk to the castle after that was silent, and at the entrance, Scotland handed England over to Ireland, and then they departed._

_~End of flashback~_

* * *

Scotland bit his lip, lowered his head and paused, as if unwilling to continue the story.

Ireland frowned, wondering what was wrong, before his eyes widened and he gasped quietly. "Scotland, if you don't want to tell the next part-"

"No, I will." He interrupted, eyes closing. He raised his right hand and rubbed his chest, as if it ached from something.

"But-"

"Really. I'm fine." Scotland sighed and raised his head, opening his eyes in the process. "Whatever you do, please don't interrupt. I've wanted to tell you this for a while, England. I never actually told Wales and Ireland the full details."

* * *

~Flashback~

_Scotland reluctantly walked to the dungeons, where he knew the king would be waiting. Whenever something happened and he was waiting for one of them to fess up, he would wait in the dungeons._

_Sure enough, there he sat, arms folded, waiting expectantly with his foot tapping impatiently on the stone floor._

_"_ _Well, Alba? Who broke my vase?" He said as a greeting as soon as Scotland entered his line of sight._ Even if it was England, I can't let the king punish him, _he thought as he put his plan into action._

_"_ _It-it was actually…actually me, Your Majesty."_

_If the king was angry before, he was downright_ livid _now. "What?!" He roared. "You mean to say that you_ lied _to me?!"_

It's for my brothers, it's for my brothers, _Scotland thought as he closed his eyes. "Yes."_

_He stood, storming over to the Scot and grabbing the front of his shirt in both hands. The king's face was red with fury. Slamming Scotland against the nearest wall, he ordered the guards to leave. They obeyed, knowing not to further anger the king._

_"_ _You will pay for your lies, Alba. Take your shirt off and turn away from me._ Now. _"_

_Knowing what was to come, Scotland followed the orders of the king and tensed, waiting for the first strike. One of the king's favourite punishing tools was the whip, and Scotland waited for him to tell him how many lashes he'd get._

_"_ _Twenty lashes for breaking my vase, and ten more for lying to me. Got it?" Scotland's eyes widened._ Thirty in total! That's too many! _He thought with horror._

_The first strike wasn't so bad, but after ten, the Scot began to feel like he couldn't take many more. What made things worse was the fact that he was only a third of the way through his punishment. The blood flowing down his back was uncomfortable, and the searing pain was unbearable._

_At twenty lashes, Scotland found it hard to focus on anything. He'd done well so far, biting his lip so hard it bled just so he would cry out, and he'd held back the tears that were forming in his eyes, instead just clenching his fists and squeezing his eyes shut._

_"_ _Twenty-one!" The king called as he brought the whip down once more. This time, a small whimper escaped Scotland, but luckily his punisher didn't hear it. He might get more lashes for 'showing weakness' or whatever else the king could come up with._

Nine more, just ni- _as the whip attacked his back again, he corrected his thought:_ eight more, just _eight_ more.

_By the time the king counted to thirty, Scotland was in absolute agony. He felt close to passing out, and yet every wave of pain that shot down his spine startled him awake. The only sound he'd made during all this was the unnoticed whimper, which only seemed to anger the king._

_"_ _Why won't you scream? Why won't you beg for mercy? What's wrong with you?!" He yelled as he dropped the bloodied whip, instead grabbing a dagger._ This is new, _Scotland thought as he turned round._ Usually he just walks off when he's done.

_"_ _Curse you!" Screamed the king and in one swift move, he embedded the dagger in Scotland's chest._

_Surprised, the Scot staggered backwards, accidentally hitting his back against the stone wall. Hissing under his breath, he reached for the dagger, but the king only drove it deeper into his chest, driven by some crazy desire to make Scotland scream._

_Suddenly, he huffed, let go of the dagger (leaving it in Scotland's chest though) and walked out of the dungeons, leaving Scotland to rip the dagger out and collapse onto the floor. At least the dagger had missed his heart and lungs. Barely, though._

I have to go to them, _he thought as he coughed weakly,_ I have to go check on my brothers.

_Determined, he struggled to sit up, panting from the effort, before quickly standing, and consequently being hit by a wave of dizziness._

_Despite this, Scotland walked slowly to his room, where he'd instructed Ireland and Wales to take England to. Opening the door, the world went black and he was unconscious before he'd hit the ground._

_~End of flashback~_

* * *

Scotland took a shaky breath and clutched his chest, as if it was hurting. His eyes were squeezed shut and his head was down.

"I-I didn't know. Oh my God! To think you went through that to protect…me…even though you didn't know if I broke it or not…" England trailed off, cupping a hand over his mouth in horror. "You went through that – why?"

"He didn't want us to get hurt because no-one fessed up. He told me after I fixed him up." Ireland replied in Scotland's place, the latter of which had gone strangely silent. "Do you want me to tell you about that?"

England nodded, and was surprised when Wales spoke up. "Yeah, I'd like to know; you never did tell me."

Ireland nodded and cast a quick glance at Scotland before beginning.

* * *

~Flashback~

_It didn't take long for Ireland and Wales to get to Scotland's room. They'd decided against locking it, knowing that Scotland would come back and they didn't want him to wait outside._

_Setting England on the bed, Ireland instructed Wales to take the Brit's shoe off to inspect the damage while he went to go get some ice to bring down the swelling._

_As he wandered down to the kitchen, Ireland couldn't help fretting about Scotland. 'Don't worry; I have a plan' wasn't exactly very reassuring when the plan was centred around dealing with the angry king._ Please be okay, Scotland, _he thought as he found some ice, and headed back to the room._

 _Wales had done what he asked, and reported that it was fairly serious, but it should heal fine. Laying England down on Scotland's bed, he placed the ice over his ankle, and noted how England flinched at first, before relaxing._ I think he's actually just gone to sleep now, _Ireland shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed, Wales doing the same._

_"_ _Ireland?" Wales spoke first._

_The Irishman turned to him. "Yeah?"_

_"_ _Do you like being mean to England?"_

_"_ _Of course not! But the king would be furious if we weren't." Ireland looked down._

_"_ _Don't worry; I'm sure he would understand!"_

_"_ _No, because the king is horrible. He_ wants _us to be horrible too. And there's nothing we can do about it."_

_"_ _Oh." A silence fell over them._

_Ireland sighed and gazed at England, who thankfully looked peaceful._

_"_ _Ireland?" Wales spoke up again._

_Once again, the Irishman turned to his younger brother. "Yeah?"_

_"_ _Is Scotland going to be okay?"_

_He sighed and stared out the window. "I sure as hell hope so."_

_Of course, when Scotland appeared again, he was far from okay. Ireland nearly had a heart attack when his older brother collapsed the moment he opened the door. Wales, who had drifted off, was startled awake, and when Ireland caught sight of the numerous injuries on Scotland's back and what looked like a stab wound on his chest, he knew that the Welshman shouldn't see this._

_Ripping his shirt off, Ireland used it to cover Scotland's back from sight, wondering where_ his _shirt had gone, before telling Wales to grab England and go next door, into Ireland's room and wait in there._

_"_ _Go! Now!" He yelled._

_Wales squeaked slightly in fright at the desperate tone in Ireland's voice. "O-okay!" Carrying out the order, he disappeared out the room with England, quickly glancing at Scotland and gasping at the blood that was leaking through Ireland's shirt. However, he still went into Ireland's room, leaving his two older brothers to themselves._

_Ireland was nearly panicking as he saw how pale Scotland was. Pulling one of the Scot's arms round his shoulders, he hoisted him up, and dragged him away from the door and onto the floor, deciding against setting him on the bed and getting it covered in blood._

_"_ _Stay here! I'm going to go get some cloths and a bowl!" Hurriedly, he ran out the room, forgetting the fact that he was shirtless, and went charging through the castle to get the items he needed to help his suffering brother._

_Once he'd gotten back, he found his shirt completely soaked with blood and Scotland whining and groaning at the same time._

_Setting the bowl of warm water that had cooled somewhat after he'd boiled it down, he knelt by Scotland and peeled the shirt off, tossing it aside. He then grabbed the nearest cloth and dipped it in the water, before gently dabbing one of the bleeding whip marks. Scotland writhed in pain under his hand, desperate to escape the agony that he was in._

_Cursing under his breath, Ireland went to soak the cloth in the water again, and was about to bring the wet cloth down on Scotland's back again when the suffering nation suddenly swore loudly, making Ireland jump and accidentally drop the cloth, causing warm water to spread across his back._

_This earned a loud scream of pain from Scotland, and Ireland broke. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I just don't know what to do, I'm really scared, what did the king even_ do _to you, what should I do, please Scotland I need your help, I've never dealt with it on a scale like this before, I'm really sorry, oh God please help me-"_

_He was cut off when Scotland opened his eyes, turned his head awkwardly, and as he wheezed, he smiled thinly, although it turned out more like a grimace. "Ireland…I'm fine."_

_This seemed to bring out the mother hen side of Ireland, and he resisted the urge to punch the Scot. "You are anything_ but _fine, mister! You finally come, covered in blood and collapse the moment you open the door! You nearly gave me a heart attack, y'know! Honestly. And then you have the nerve to say you're fine! Then again, that's something you'd typically say." As he chatted away, he picked up the cloth, wrung it out in the water before gently starting again._

_~End of flashback~_

* * *

Ireland laughed bitterly. "To think that the _king_ did something like that makes it hard to think of him as a _king_ , y'know? But anyway, once I'd cleaned and dressed his wounds, I put him on the bed, and over the following days he slowly recovered. Only a few of the whip marks' scars are still there now, but the stab wound…that's still there. Isn't it, Scotland?"

His casual smile faded as he saw that Scotland was in the same place as before, except he was clutching his chest more desperately than before.

"Scotland? Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Ireland got up and walked over to him, kneeling down in front of him and getting a good look of his face. He wished he didn't. Sweat rolled down his face, and his eyes were clenched shut tighter than ever. His jaw was clenched, and, to Ireland's horror, a thin trickle of blood leaked out of the side of his mouth.

And then the Irishman saw the increasing patch of blood on the front of Scotland's shirt that had been hidden by his hand before, and barely had enough time to yell his name before the Scot pitched forward and promptly passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OMG THIS CHAPTER IS SO LONG! Well, hopefully it'll make up for how long I've been gone (a month may not sound like a lot to you, but it worried me).
> 
> There you have it. The part of the story from chapter 2 is finally complete, 19 chapters later (wow, that sounds bad)!
> 
> Oh, and back then, I'm not sure if they had ice and stuff, but oh well. And the king is just one I made up. So don't go round thinking that he's real (well, he might be, but idk).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and I'll leave you to wonder what just happened to Scotland!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what's wrong with Scotland, but someone else is suffering, and from one of the worst memories he ever got...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Back again so soon, you ask? Well, I am in a very good mood for some reason, so I've decided to write this for you early (mostly because I really want to write some more Scotland angst). Oh, and someone else is going to suffer as well, because I hardly read any stories of his suffering, so why not involve him in this one?
> 
> Warning: this chapter may be a bit gory in places, so be careful. This is rated T, after all, so beware. It's only in the flashbacks, which are in italics, though.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Wales was confused. He remembered the memory that Ireland had shared. He remembered seeing his oldest brother, unconscious and bloodied on the floor. He remembered hearing the sounds of pain coming from next door. But he didn't remember seeing a wound on his front. _Was it because he was laying on his front? I don't know._

He was even more confused when Scotland didn't respond to Ireland, instead looking in pain as he hunched over, head down. And when the Scot suddenly passed out, it sent him into an internal panic. _What's wrong with him?! Is he ill? No, he was fine this morning. Wait – is that blood?! He's hurt? Oh God, it's like that time…_

The Welshman began shaking as memories that he didn't want to see flooded to the surface of his mind, and he clutched the sides of his head and lowered it, trying not to wail as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing the images that danced before his eyes to go away. _I thought I'd forgotten them?! Why are they back! I don't want these memories, please, someone make them go away!_

He was barely aware that his breathing had increased rapidly. Everyone was preoccupied with Scotland's sudden collapse to notice his deteriorating state. He felt a sudden lull of unconsciousness, but he urged himself not to fall asleep. _If I go to sleep, then I'll be powerless against the memories. N-no! Stop it! Go away!_

Wales registered that he was now crying, but it was useless against the torrent of horrible memories of an event that he'd much rather forget.

Suddenly, there was someone in front of him, talking to him in a soothing voice, trying to pull his hands away from his head, but he wouldn't, he _couldn't_ , and then his body shut down from lack of oxygen and another person passed out in the space of a couple of minutes.

* * *

~Canada's POV~

I listen to Scotland's (and Ireland's) story quietly, very intrigued by it. But then Scotland passes out, and my interest is replaced with concern. I stand to go to him, but Ireland's checking over him, and everyone's crowded round, much to Ireland's annoyance, so I step back. England is allowed closer, and that's when I wonder where Wales is in the crowd. I can't see him, so I turn to check where he was sat, and, much to my shock, I see him clutching the sides of his head as if remembering something he doesn't want to.

I start to slowly approach him, but then his breathing starts increasing, and I realise that he's hyperventilating, and I need to help him.

I quicken my pace, and he starts whimpering and crying. Once in front of him, I kneel and attempt to move his hands away from his head. "Wales, you have to listen to me. You have to calm down, okay? Take deep breaths. What's the matter? C'mon, deep breaths." But he doesn't listen, and, as a result, he faints.

I catch him before he falls too far, and I bite my lip, knowing that no-one will be able to hear me over the racket the other nations are making. So I have to take matters into my own hands.

Carefully, I turn round, making sure he doesn't fall off the sofa he's sat on, and throw his arms over my shoulders, before grabbing his thighs and hoisting him onto my back. Making sure he's secure, I slowly stand up, and take a deep breath. _I should take him to his room – doesn't he share it with Ireland? Yeah, that's right._ I think, before skirting the crowd and heading to the stairs.

"What the-?!" A voice causes me to halt, and I turn to see New Zealand, staring at me- no, staring at _Wales_ in horror. "What's wrong with Wales?!" He exclaims, loud enough for the others to hear him. They quieten down, turning their heads to me and the unconscious European nation on my back.

Ireland's eyes widen once he catches sight of his younger brother. "What happened to him?" He glances back at Scotland. " _What_ is going on?!"

"I don't know. He just started hyperventilating and holding his head, and then he passed out. I'm taking him to his room, if that's okay with you." I explain.

"It's fine. Please do. Can someone help me take Scotland to his room?" Ireland asks the crowd, after nodding to me. I start climbing the stairs, but my breath catches when I feel Wales start to fall backwards. Luckily, someone appears out of nowhere and holds him in place. I turn to smile gratefully at New Zealand.

"I'm coming with you." He declares, keeping a steady hand on Wales' back. I don't object; in fact, I'm glad he's coming. I don't really know how to deal with this sort of situation, especially not with Wales, who's usually fairly quiet when I'm around him – except, of course, his outburst earlier when England asked why we threw the party for him. _The party seems so far away,_ I realise as I reach the top of the stairs.

It doesn't take us long to get to the room which Wales shares with Ireland, and I, with the help of New Zealand, lower him to the bed, just as he whimpers. _Did we hurt him? No, it must be from whatever caused this._ I think to myself as I frown at him. _But the question is: what_ is _causing this?_

* * *

~Normal POV~

Ireland knew that he needed to take Scotland's shirt off, hoping that it wouldn't confirm his fears, but with the crowd surrounding them both, he couldn't do that.

"Move already! I need space!" Ireland yelled impatiently. America had offered to help transport Scotland to his room, but he couldn't pick him up because of the confused and curious nations.

The Irishman was worried sick about both Scotland and Wales, and he still had some concern for England. All this couldn't be good for his heart. But he had to help Scotland first, before he could check on Wales. Besides, he knew that Canada was with him, and he swore that he spotted New Zealand going as well. He was alright for now.

"You heard him! Back off!" England barked, pushing his way to the front. The surrounding nations finally obeyed, going back a good few metres. This enabled America to pick the Scot up with ease, holding him bridal-style to keep an eye on him while he walked.

"Only me and England are going, okay? Everyone stay here, or go to your rooms." Ireland ordered, before turning around and following America as he ascended the stairs, England next to him.

Once they arrived at Scotland's room, Ireland opened the door and told America to set him down on the floor. He complied, and stepped back, allowing Ireland to slowly take off the Scot's shirt, revealing the cause of his condition. The scar on his chest that he'd gotten from the story they told had opened mysteriously, and was bleeding freely – just like when he first got it.

Shaking his head to clear the memories, he used both hands to apply pressure over Scotland's wound, earning a whine from him. To make things worse, he started thrashing around, trying to escape.

"Stop struggling! America, help me out here!" Said nation leapt into action, pinning the Scot's arms to his sides, but unable to hold down his legs. "Don't worry about his legs! I think I'm just out of reach anyway."

"Wh-what can I do?" Asked England, feeling useless as he merely watched the scene unfold.

"Get me a bowl of warm water and a couple of cloths, will you?" The Irishman replied.

The Brit nodded, and left the room, quick-walking back downstairs and being bombarded with question by the waiting nations, none of who had gone to their rooms.

"Mon dieu, what's going on?!" France exclaimed.

"Ve~ what's happening?" Italy cried.

"How are they?" Australia asked.

"Do they need any more help?" Japan cocked his head to the side.

"Enough! I have to get something! When the situation's stable, I'll try and fill you in, alright?" England snapped. They reluctantly agreed, allowing the Brit to rush into the kitchen.

Quickly grabbing the items that his older brother had asked for, England all but ran back to them, although careful not to spill the water.

Barging through the door, he was greeted by the sight of Ireland softly punching Scotland's arm as the Scot laughed weakly.

"Scotland! Are you okay? What happened?" England asked, kneeling beside his oldest brother.

"I'm…fine…" He gasped out. Laughing only hurt his chest more.

"You don't look it. Or sound it. Uh, Ireland?" The blonde frowned at the Irishman. "Why are you still punching Scotland?"

"Because he scared me!" Ireland finally stopped punching him and took a deep breath. "Why did your scar suddenly open up, Scotland?"

"I don't know. It's weird; it's never done it before." Scotland frowned and craned his neck to try and look at his scar, but he flinched as it sent a twinge of pain through his chest.

Ireland shook his head. "I've got to clean it – yes, I know it hurts, but you don't have to give me that look." Scotland, who was staring at him like a kicked puppy, sighed and closed his eyes.

"Let me sleep first."

"No."

"Why?" He whined.

"C'mon dude, just let him help you." America cut in, smiling encouragingly at the Scot.

"But it hurts…"

"It'll only hurt more if you don't let him clean it. You never know, you may get an infection or something." America reasoned.

"Fine…" He reluctantly agreed, and relaxed as best as he could.

Ireland dipped the cloth in the water, before bringing it up to Scotland's chest and dabbing the wound, which had nearly finished bleeding. He hissed and jerked his head to the side, his nails dragging across the floor as he scrunched up his eyes.

"Shh, just relax." Ireland comforted him, being even more gentle as he soaked the cloth and repeated the process.

England watched, amazed, as Ireland fully cleaned Scotland's wound and helped America put him on the bed. _I've never seen his caring side to this extent before,_ he thought as he let a smile play on his lips.

But then it faded when he remembered Wales. _I hope he's okay,_ he thought as he glanced at the door.

Ireland stood, stretching before saying, "Right, I think he's asleep now. America, could you keep watch over him? And England, could you get rid of the cloths and the bowl? I need to check on Wales." After getting two nods, the Irishman left the room.

England grabbed the slightly bloodied items and took them downstairs, ignoring the curious nations for the time being. _When I'm done here, I'll explain to them what's going on._

With that decided, he proceeded to wash out the bowl and leave the cloths to soak in water, before drying his hands and headed into the front room.

"Do you lot want to know what's going on?" He called as he walked over to them and sat down in the nearest chair. He suddenly felt exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to sleep. However, his concern for his bedridden brothers, Wales especially, kept him awake.

"You're _finally_ going to tell us?" Australia asked, sighing with relief at the nod of confirmation.

"Basically," England began, "Scotland's scar reopened for some reason – we don't actually know why. And-"

"I know why." France interrupted, surprising them all.

"You do?" The Brit frowned.

France nodded. "Don't you usually get sick or something every 4th July?"

"Uh…yeah, why?"

"Well, that's like a scar for you, in a manner of speaking. This was the first time Scotland shared the full story, and the first time you shared the full story of the final battle of the American Revolution, didn't the scar over your heart reopen?"

England nodded, catching onto what France was getting to. "You mean to say that because this was the first time Scotland's told anyone the full story, his scar reopened?"

"Yes. It's strange, and doesn't really make sense, but it happened to me too. It only happens when the aftermath of getting that scar involves some sort of change in your personality. After you got your scar from the American Revolution, you acted harsher and colder towards others, didn't you? And I heard from Ireland ages ago that after he treated the wounds the king gave Scotland, he began to act a lot colder to you, as if he unconsciously blamed you for what happened. The human brain is a very strange thing, and one of the most complex things in the universe."

England took a moment to digest the information, before humming in agreement. "I suppose you're right. I'll tell Ireland, and see what he thinks. Meanwhile, you either stay here and help yourself to drinks, or go to your rooms and get some rest or whatever."

France smirked. "Ever the bossy one, I see."

"Oh shut up, frog."

"Ah, it's been a long time since I heard that."

"Don't you dare start getting nostalgic on me."

"I'd say it's more sentimental, rather than nostalgic."

"Oh, whatever, I'm going now." With that, England got up and walked up the stairs.

* * *

As soon as he left the room, Ireland nearly slid down the wall, stopping himself just in time as England quick-walked out the room, thankfully not noticing him. Once the coast was clear, he proceeded to slide down the wall until he was sat on the floor, with his head leaning back against the wall.

 _Why is this suddenly happening,_ he thought. _This was supposed to be a wonderful day. England was back with us. We were going to have a nice party, then relax for the rest of the day. Or until midnight. Well, at least England seems to have settled in fairly quickly. Thank God. If I had to deal with him as well as Scotland and Wales, I don't know what I would have done. Thankfully, I don't, and Scotland seems to be taken care of for now. I've just got to trust America to keep an eye on him._ He sighed. _And then there's Wales. I really should go see him. I hope he's alright._

But deep down, Ireland had this nagging feeling that his younger brother wasn't suffering from exhaustion or cold.

Getting back onto his feet, the Irishman proceeded down the hallway, soon coming across the room he shared with Wales. He was concerned when he heard loud whimpering and occasionally yelps from inside.

Grabbing the door handle, he opened the door, and was met with the sight of the Welshman thrashing around on the bed, panting and whimpering. His fists were curled into the blankets that Canada and New Zealand were trying to keep on him and not on the floor as he flailed around on the bed. Even from where he stood, Ireland could see the sweat rolling down his face and the slight flush to his cheeks, as if he had a fever.

Walking over caught New Zealand's attention, and he turned to him desperately. "You've got to help us! He suddenly started thrashing about, as if he was experiencing some sort of horrible nightmare, and it keeps getting worse! I-I don't know what to do!"

"Neither do I." Canada agreed. "I've never seen this before."

Furrowing his brows, Ireland stepped closer to his suffering brother's head, and gently placed a hand on his forehead, surprised by the heat radiating off it. _So he_ does _have a fever,_ he bit his lip, suddenly uncertain of what to do, when New Zealand's words echoed in his head: ' _He suddenly started thrashing about, as it he was experiencing some sort of horrible nightmare, and it keeps getting worse!'._

"When did you say he started holding his head and hyperventilating, Canada?" He asked, not looking away from Wales, and also not removing his hand from his forehead.

"Just after Scotland collapsed." He answered. "Why?"

"Hmm…" _So, Scotland suddenly collapses, and Wales starts breaking down…!_ He gasped as the realisation of what this was dawned upon him. "Oh, not this, not now…" He murmured, now knowing what was ailing his younger brother.

Wales was experiencing the flashback of one of his worst memories ever.

* * *

~In Wales' head~

_Nothing was going well for him. He looked like a normal fifteen-year-old, but the people hunting him and his brothers knew what he really was. A nation – something that they deemed unearthly and a mistake. They didn't want any nations around. They thought them a crime against the universe and all existence – just because they were almost immortal, and could heal quickly._

_This particular group seemed to think that nations were a crime against their gods – or, that's what Wales had heard from his brothers. Him, Scotland and Ireland were in hiding from them, deep in a forest in Scotland's land. England was working with his monarch, and the group seemed to think that he was just an important individual high up in the political society of England, as he used 'Arthur Kirkland', his human name, when in public. They'd never found out that he was in fact one of the nations they hated so much._

_But the other three brothers weren't so lucky. They were used to using their country names, so most people knew who – or rather,_ what _– they were. This worked against them, as the anti-nation (as Wales liked to call them) group were currently hunting them. Didn't they know that they would never be able to kill a nation that way? If the country was dissolved, or every single person related to that country died, then the nation would die. Of course, the former option rarely happened, and the latter would be classed as genocide._

_Wales didn't know what nationality the group was, except that they definitely came from the British Isles. But that involved Wales, Scotland, Ireland, England and all the little islands around them that fell into the category of 'British Isles'._

_Sighing, he glanced left and right as he scouted the area for any of the group members, while his older brothers stayed at their hideout._ What's the name of the group anyway? _He asked himself as he stepped over a large tree root. He was currently in the forest where they hid, and Ireland had told him to only scout the forest. He wasn't to go out into the open. He wasn't to leave the safety of the trees._

_Rounding a corner, he gasped in surprise at the sight of a cloaked figure in front of him, their hood covering their face. He stopped in his tracks, eyeing the figure. They had a sword and a dagger, and had some sort of badge on the front of their cloak, although Wales was too far away to tell what it was of._

_"_ _Who are you?" He asked cautiously._

_The figure cocked their head to the side. "Are you…the one they call 'Wales'?"_

_"_ _Uh…yeah…why?"_

_Then they pulled their hood back, with a large grin on their face._ Definitely a man, _Wales thought to himself. Suddenly, the man clicked his fingers, and at least a dozen other cloaked men sprang out of hiding, surrounding the Welshman and cutting off all of his escape routes._

_"_ _Gotcha." The first man's grin widened, and Wales didn't have any time to react before the hilt of a sword was slammed into the side of his head, and he blacked out._

* * *

_He was woken up rather abruptly when he felt a dagger suddenly enter his thigh._

_Snapping his eyes open, Wales found himself bound by chains and stretched across a table, with a man next to him, responsible for the dagger now in his leg._

_"_ _Wha-" He was cut off by the dagger in his leg twisting viciously, causing him to yelp in pain._

_The man laughed maniacally in response. "Yes! Perfect! That's what you deserve, you nation scum!"_

_Wales whimpered, tugging at the chains around his wrists._

_"_ _You really think you can escape?" He let out a bark of laughter. "How pathetic! You will never escape from here unless you're dead!" He shoved his face right in front of Wales'. "While you're here, you will tell us where your hideout is, where the other two nations are. Got it?"_

_"_ _I-I'll never tell you anything!"_

_The man only smirked evilly. "We'll see."_

* * *

_Over the next five days, Wales was brutally tortured, from dislocations and punches to stabbings and being cut open. It was varied and never-ending. When one man tired, another would take his place immediately, and pick up where he left off. In the five days, the suffering nation wasn't allowed to sleep, wasn't fed, and was only given water once a day, and the flask it was given in was only ever a quarter-full. Whenever he passed out, he was dunked in cold water until he woke up, and on more than one occasion, he almost drowned._

_His breaking point came when the leader arrived and attempted to gouge his eyes out._

_When the dirty fingers of the leader neared his eye, Wales knew that he had to say something. He was thrashing about, desperately trying to escape and panting from the effort it brought his weak, broken body. It also aggravated his other injuries, causing him to whimper and yelp as he squirmed around._

_"_ _Okay, okay, fine! I'll tell you!" Wales cried, and the leader took his fingers away from his face. He was then forced to tell them every little detail of how to get to the hideout, and all the time, he felt guilt about betraying his brothers because he was afraid of his eyes being ripped out._ How pathetic, _he scolded himself,_ I'm so pathetic for selling my brothers out because of fear.

 _"_ _Good. We'll storm the place tonight. Know that anything that happens to them is your fault,_ Wales _." He sneered the Welshman's name and turned away. But then, in one swift move, he grabbed a dagger, turned back, and slammed it straight through Wales' right eye._

_He was so surprised by the sudden movement that the pain didn't register until after a few seconds. And when it did, he screamed loudly, and the leader left laughing._

~Real world~

* * *

Ireland sat on the edge of Wales' bed, his right hand gently stroking Wales' tense left one, which was above the covers. The thrashing was still continuing, but it was weaker, as if the energy in his body was leaving him.

 _I can't believe he's having a flashback of_ that _; it was so horrible after all,_ he thought as he gazed at his younger brother's tense face, creased up in pain.

Without warning, Wales released a loud, blood-curdling scream of pure agony. Ireland was so surprised that he fell off the bed. He quickly recovered, though, and leapt to his feet, in time to see Wales curl up in a ball, clutching his right eye and continuing to scream.

Canada and New Zealand had frozen, unsure of what to do. After all, how could they help ease someone's pain when it was all in their head?

"Wales! Calm down! C'mon, it's not real!" Ireland cried, desperately trying to get his brother to uncurl himself. _Even though he couldn't curl up when it happened,_ Ireland thought darkly, realising from the way Wales was screaming and clutching his eye that it was the last injury he sustained before the group came to their hideout and ambushed him and Scotland.

He remembered when that happened, and was unwillingly drawn into a flashback.

* * *

~Flashback~

_Ireland punched the nearest wall in frustration. "Dammit!" He yelled._

_"_ _Ireland, you need to calm down." Scotland glanced up from where he was hunched over on a chair, biting his thumb nail and using his other hand to try and steady the hand who's thumb nail he was chewing, as it was shaking that much._

_"_ _It's been five days, Scotland! It's obvious he's been captured! We need to break into the anti-nation group's hideout and rescue him!"_

_"_ _He might just be lost!" Both nations knew, even as Scotland said it, that neither of them believed it to be true. "Either way, we can't just storm the place. It's too risky."_

_"_ _But-"_

_Suddenly, Scotland tensed, sitting up straight. "Shhhhh." He whispered, just as the wall next to him caved in, and cloaked men burst in, swinging their swords wildly._

_The fight that followed this was short, as Scotland and Ireland fought hard, but had no choice but to flee._

_"_ _After them!" The leader yelled, but the brothers had already vanished. "Dammit!" He cursed, when he suddenly got an idea. "It won't be so bad. I'll tell Wales that we captured them, and are planning to kill them later. If I say that enough times, he'll believe it and nothing else." He chuckled evilly before leaving the hideout, his men close behind, before ordering a dozen to search for the two missing nations._

_Ireland, who had eavesdropped on the leader, sighed with both relief and worry as he heard what the leader said._ At least Wales is still alive, _he thought, before chiding himself._ What am I saying?! You can't kill a nation like the way this group is no doubt using!

 _He quickly ran away, joining Scotland._ Don't worry, Wales. _He thought, determination blazing in his eyes._ We'll save you soon. Just hang on.

~End of flashback~

* * *

Ireland took a shaky breath when he stared at his younger brother. _If just that little memory is enough to scare me, then Wales is probably petrified right now,_ he thought as he felt his eyes burn. Quickly, he rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the tears before the others noticed.

"Are you okay, Ire-" Canada began.

" _ARGHHHHH!"_ Another agonised scream tore from Wales' lips, making him shudder. _Come on, Wales,_ the Irishman thought, _you can get through this. You're about halfway through the whole memory. Just hang on._

* * *

~In Wales' head~

_When the leader returned in the early morning, Wales was filled with dread._

_"_ _Hello again,_ nation _." He began, standing by the Welshman's table. Someone had had the decency to remove the dagger from his eye, but the wound was still bleeding, and he couldn't see a thing out of his right eye. "Because of your_ betrayal _, we captured Scotland and Ireland, and are planning to kill them at midnight tonight. They are being tortured as we speak."_

_"_ _N-no, you're wrong. Nations can't die that easily. You can't kill them."_

_"_ _That's what you think."_

* * *

_It only took until halfway through the next day that Wales started to believe it. Between the cruel torture he endured, the leader kept repeating the same thing over and over that he'd said the first time, and when Wales had said that he was wrong just after midnight, the leader had simply replied with a 'we postponed it until tonight'._

_Once the leader left, at what he presumed to be evening, Wales believed that his brothers really were going to be killed at midnight that night._

_And later that night, when Scotland and Ireland actually broke into the hideout, having never been captured, and freed him from his prison, he broke down, thinking they were dead, and that the people before him were nothing more than ghosts._

_But when Scotland's trying to convince him that they're not dead, and they're fine, he suddenly collapses, scaring both Wales and Ireland, the former of which begins to hyperventilate, thinking that Scotland had just died._

_In actual fact, as the pair had been fighting their way to their younger brother, Scotland had taken a particularly bad hit to his chest and had broken a couple of his ribs._

_But Wales didn't know this, and he can't calm down, can't slow his breathing, and as a result, passed out._

* * *

 

~Real World~

Ireland felt a lump in his throat as he remembered that once they'd escaped from the enemy's hideout, it took a long time for Wales to return to the way he used to be, and even then he never really was the same. All three brothers had decided to never speak of the event again.

 _I'm pretty certain that when Scotland passed out downstairs, it reminded him of when Scotland collapsed in the enemy's hideout, which must have triggered the traumatic memory to rise._ The Irishman sighed with relief as Wales seemed to calm down, and relax slightly, only whimpering occasionally. His fever was still there, though, and he swears its risen from before. _I better get a washcloth to help bring it down,_ Ireland thought as he stood up.

"Back in a minute." He called to the others as he left the room.

However, when he walked out into the corridor, he nearly crashed into England, who'd been about to walk in.

"I heard screaming earlier! What's wrong with Wales?" He asked, slightly hurriedly.

Ireland merely replied, "It's about something that you weren't there for." He winced at how harsh he sounded, and he only felt worse when England flinched. But he had a job to do, and he couldn't stand around talking.

The Irishman walked past England, leaving the Brit standing, surprised, in the hallway. _Two of my brothers are suffering from two separate things that I knew nothing about. I really need to get in touch more with them. Damn, why am I so oblivious?!_ Biting his lip, he debated whether or not to go into Wales' room. _He seems a lot calmer, but I'm not sure. Regardless, I should see him. It's only fair to return the favour after what he did for me all that time ago._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dear God, this chapter is once again way too long. On the bright side, I'm actually starting to develop some of the characters at last! So now we know something bad from Scotland and Wales' past. I wonder if I'll do Ireland next chapter, or the recovery… *shrugs* well, I don't know.
> 
> Goddammit, I think there's going to be yet another flashback in the next chapter. Oh well.
> 
> And who doesn't love Wales, am I right? He just doesn't get enough love, so I've made him suffer. Badly. Because I'm mean.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wales is still suffering. Possibly even worse than before. Because I'm mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

The next time Scotland awoke, it was a good few hours after he'd fallen asleep. Sitting up, he winced at the stinging sensation that came from his chest, but at least it wasn't an agonising pain ripping through him.

Glancing to his left, he jumped slightly as he noticed America, arms on the bed and head buried in them, fast asleep. He smirked – he couldn't wait to tease the American for this.

But as he opened his mouth to say something, he faltered and closed it again as he realised that _America had fallen asleep watching over him._ This fact made him stop wanting to tease the American, and to just let him rest.

 _Ah, I'm thirsty,_ Scotland realised. _I better go get myself a glass of water._

However, as he tugged back the covers, the movement woke American, and he raised his head blearily before seeing Scotland about to get out of bed.

"Are you insane?!" He cried. "You can't get up yet! You're hurt, dude! I'll get a glass of water for you, but you _stay here_."

"How did you know I wanted water?"

"Because whenever you're thirsty, your breathing becomes shallower, and you fight every urge to cough, in case it hurts your throat which is no doubt sore right now." America explained calmly.

 _You're more observant than I originally thought,_ he noted. "Well, I won't deny that my throat's sore. I never would have thought you would pick up on all that." Scotland fought the urge to chuckle, knowing that it might turn into a cough.

America stood up. "I'm not a complete idiot like you think I am, y'know." Then he grinned. "I'm the hero! If I'm not observant, then I can't save anyone!"

Scotland sighed and chuckled, cursing under his breath as it turned into a painful coughing fit.

"I'll uh…I'll go get you that water." He hurried out, and Scotland tossed the covers back over him. Maybe having America taking care of him wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

~France's POV~

It's been a good few hours since any of us waiting heard anything. Italy was the first to go to bed, claiming that he was 'exhausted from all the partying - and stress'. Japan had soon followed, and that left only me and Australia. It was nearly 7PM now – where had the day gone?!

Sighing, I glance at the stairs, barely stifling a yawn. I should be turning in for the night as well, but I can't. After all, I have no idea what's happening. Are Wales and Scotland merely resting? Or fighting for their lives?

Well, the latter seems rather excessive, but it's still a possibility. I've known all four brothers a while now, so of course it would worry me when the oldest and second youngest suddenly both collapse, one showing an injury, and the other not.

"Do you…do you think they'll be alright?" Australia suddenly asks, sounding strangely timid.

I glance over, and frown as I notice he's desperately trying to hide the fact that he's shaking. I choose my words carefully. "That…I don't know. Scotland seems to have an external injury that came out of nowhere, but if it did happen because he told the full story for the first time, then I'm sure it'll close up soon. He'll be back to normal in a couple of days or so."

Wales, on the other hand…I just don't know about him. We all heard horrifying screams that caused Italy to burst into tears, but it was relatively quiet now.

Of course, I've just jinxed it, and a terrified shriek rang out from upstairs, no doubt waking everyone up.

I'm on my feet before I even register what's happening, and then I'm running upstairs, Australia right behind me, although soon passing me.

We nearly crash into America, who's frozen in the hallway.

"Whoa! Dudes, what was that?" He asks, voice lacking the usual cheerfulness.

"I don't know," I shrug, "but I think it might have been Wales."

America bites his lip, conflicted by something. "I need to get Scotland some water, but I really want to know if Wales is okay…" He mutters to himself, just loud enough for me to hear.

"You get Scotland's water, Australia, you keep an eye on him – Scotland, not America." I order. "I'll go check on Wales. After all, isn't Canada, New Zealand and Ireland there? England, too?" At the American's nod, I pat them encouragingly on their shoulders before quick-walking to Wales' room.

However, I run into Japan and Italy on the way, and don't even give them a chance to speak as I command them to stay in their room (which they shared). They don't dare argue, given the situation, and simply nod and retreat back to their room. I miss England also being in their room, more or less being held back from going anywhere. It all seems to be a blur.

I nearly break the door in my haste to get into Wales' room, and inwardly gasp at the sight.

* * *

~Ireland's POV~

Once Wales' painful memory was over, he continued to sleep fairly peacefully for a few hours, and I patiently sat by him, gently rubbing my thumb against the back of his left hand. The cool washcloth on his head had been replaced a few times, but I wasn't certain if it was doing any good. I was so sure that when he woke, everything would go back to normal.

I should never have underestimated the cruelty of fate.

As soon as he began to stir, I smiled and mentally encouraged him to open his eyes. And that was when it all went downhill.

When Wales' eyes slowly open, I flinch as he tenses up and gasps, before slapping his right hand over his right eye, as if it hurt. His jaw clenches, and he holds his breath, as if it'll help get rid of the pain in his eye.

 _It's fine, it'll pass,_ I think to myself, _it's just his eye._

But then it's as if he's being pummelled by an invisible menace as he starts thrashing and flailing around. I stand up, releasing his left hand as his back suddenly arches, and he whimpers, eyes tightly shut, the washcloth falling onto his pillow.

"W-Wales!" New Zealand exclaims, reaching over to try and restrain him. This only makes my brother fight harder, jerking his head from side to side as he starts hyperventilating.

"Not again…" I hear Canada murmured faintly before he's helping New Zealand by speaking soothingly into the Welshman's ears, trying to get him to calm his breathing. He seems to perk up slightly, but he's still thrashing about. He's still wheezing and clutching his right eye.

And then he suddenly goes completely still. I start to wonder if he's passed out when his left eye snaps open, and he catches sight of me. Immediately, he lets out a terrified shriek and shoots up, almost headbutting New Zealand. He scrambles out of bed and runs over to the corner of the room, as if trying to make himself smaller. The door's a metre or so from him, and I hope that he doesn't try to escape.

I slowly start to head towards him, but freeze as he starts to cry, and his left hand tangles itself into his hair as he clutches the left side of his head, also tightening the grip he has over his right eye.

Whatever pain he's in only seems to be increasing, as his head bows, he doubles over, and, just as the door bursts open, he screams in agony, startling all of us, including the newcomer, who I realise is France.

I pay him no heed as I rush to Wales, reaching out to hold him so he doesn't fall. However, I'm surprised (at first) when he jerks away, holding his head in an even stronger (if it's at all possible) grip as he gasps and sways.

To make things worse, I notice how much heat he's radiating and I instantly know that his fever has risen. A lot. "Wales, you have to listen to me. Calm down, okay?"

He doesn't hear me, instead letting loose another scream and staggering backwards, hitting his lower back against the wall, which makes him flinch.

"You're only making yourself worse! Come on!" He shakes his head desperately, his wheezing gasps increasing even more. He sways, and I wrap my arms around him to steady him and comfort him at the same time. His head presses into my chest, and I can feel his body heat through his shirt.

France frowns and walks closer, but one look I send his way stops him, and he knows that only I can calm him down.

I turn back to Wales, and notice how the grip he has on his eye is weakening – but the one on his head is only getting stronger.

"Tar ar ais chugam, deartháir beag." I murmur to him, resting my chin on the top of his trembling head. (Tar ar ais chugam, deartháir beag is Irish for come back to me, little brother)

But then his right hand abandons his eye, instead going to the other side of his head as he sinks lower down, and I lift my chin to stare at him in horror as he screams again. _Why isn't anything working?!_ I bite my lip as he sways again. _How can he even scream when he's barely breathing? Dammit, why does his head hurt so much?! Unless…_

It was at that moment that someone charged through the open door, frantically looking around before his eyes settled on me and Wales. _Why is Scotland up?!_ I ask myself silently, eyes widening at him.

Scotland walks over to me, eyes shifting between me and Wales.

"Scotland!" I gasp out, feeling my eyes burn with unshed tears that had risen when Wales didn't respond to me. "He had _that_ memory again!"

The Scot visibly pales. "Y-you mean…the one with the…and he was…that one?" He couldn't bring himself to finish any of the points he was trying to say to define which memory it was, but I understand what he means.

"Yeah." I nod. "He's in so much pain and-and he won't listen and I think I might pass out soon! N-Níl a fhios agam cad atá le déanamh!" (Níl a fhios agam cad atá le déanamh is Irish for I don't know what to do)

Wales whimpered at my raised tone, leaning heavily against me. _Is his fever still climbing?!_ I fret as he holds his breath as the pain that only he could feel increases yet again.

Scotland takes a gamble, and forcefully grabs the Welshman's chin, twisting it upwards and to the side so that he faces the Scot. "Wales! I know you can hear me! Open your eyes!" Surprisingly, our second youngest brother complies, slowly cracking his left eye open.

However, once he sees who it is in front of him, and with a bandage around his chest (which just so happens to be without a shirt) no less, he releases another shriek of terror and promptly passes out. Again.

"Wales!" I cry out as he slumps against me, my body being the only thing keeping him upright. His hands fall limply to his sides, but the tears still continue to trickle down his face. His breathing is still quick, to my disappointment, but seems to be gradually slowing down somewhat.

I feel on the verge of a breakdown, but luckily France and Scotland are there to gently take Wales from me and carry him back to the bed. I sink to the floor, shocked by what had just transpired. _Why is he suffering so much?_ I think as I take a shaky breath.

Canada kneels beside me. "Are you alright, Ireland?" He asks.

I nod slowly, before shaking my head. "No," I mutter, "no, of course not. Why would I be? I've just seen my younger brother go through a probably – no, _definitely_ – traumatising memory. He-he was just so young when it happened, he shouldn't have had to go through that, it wasn't fair! Sure, he looked fifteen or so, but once we resemble adults, we rarely appear any older than forty. He was just so young…"

"What happened to him? It must be something bad, considering his reaction then."

"It…" I trail off, before sighing. "It was brutal, and horrible, and I think I know why he reacted like that as soon as he saw me."

Canada tilts his head. "Why?"

I close my eyes briefly, before opening them. "I think it's because in the memory he just experienced, he becomes convinced that Scotland and I are…are dead." I swallow the lump in my throat, before continuing, "When we rescue him from… _there_ , he breaks down. Then Scotland collapses – which is also what he did a few hours ago, and I think this triggered the memory – and he…oh God, it was horrible! It took us so long to get him back to his normal self, but even then, he was…less enthusiastic about everything. He was also quieter. Anyway, so after he's convinced that we're dead, only to find that the opposite is true, is bad enough, but then waking up and finding me just casually sat there beside him as if nothing ever happened? He must've been so confused, and the memory must have flooded his mind. His head must've really hurt because of all the confusion and he was seeing two different worlds - the past one in the memory and the present - or something. I…I didn't have a clue what to do."

"But you helped him more than us, right?" Canada reasons. "And don't worry; I won't press for details. If what I've just witnessed is any indication to what it was like, I don't even _want_ to know."

"No," I agree with a grimace, "you really don't. It's one of those things that no matter how much you want to completely forget it, it always haunts you at the back of your mind."

"There's something else that's bugging me," the Canadian says after a brief silence, "and it's just that why exactly does Wales have a burning fever?"

I take a while thinking about how to answer that. "I'm not _entirely_ sure…but my best guess is that all of the distress and pain in his memory has caused his brain to go into overdrive or something, and that created his fever as an aftereffect. All the stress he's just gone through is probably what's making the fever worse."

"Hmm…I'd buy that. Sounds accurate enough." Canada stands, helping me up as well.

We both head over to the bed, where France is having a go at Scotland for 'moving around and possibly making his injury worse', to which he rolls his eyes and tells him that he's fine. New Zealand has already replaced the cloth on the pillow with a fresh one, and has laid it on Wales' forehead, which is already covered in a sheen of sweat.

I could clearly see the discomfort that my younger brother was suffering from as soon as he saw the crease in between his eyebrows, and the way his eyes were practically squeezed shut, even in unconsciousness. I sigh, and share a glance with Scotland as Wales whimpers.

* * *

~Normal POV~

Meanwhile, England had been all but forced into Italy and Japan's room (courtesy of Italy insisting), and he sat, cross-legged, on the bed while the other two nations did the same, forming some kind of misshapen triangle. It looked rather like three girls at a sleepover, but England refrained from pointing this out.

"Hey, Arturo?" Italy spoke up, his head cocked to the side.

"Yes?"

"Are you mad at us because we're stopping you from going to see Wales?"

"Sort of. I want to see him, don't get me wrong, but…it's been a long time since I've seen him suffering, and since he's screaming, it must be really bad. I'm not sure if I'm ready to see that."

"Oh." The Italian looked down.

"However…I suppose one little visit can't harm me. I'll go later, and have a moment alone with him or something. Think of it as me returning the favour after what he did for me."

This seemed to pique Japan's interest. "And what was that?"

"Basically, I was suffering from a bad case of the plague – pneumonic, I think, and no, it wasn't the Great Plague or the Black Plague or anything famous like that – and I was alone, until Wales came by himself and single-handedly brought me back to full health." He looked down, pausing before continuing his story, "Once I was cured, I set off to do some important work that I'd missed out on, and I can't even remember if it thanked him or not for helping me. I heard him cough once as I left, but I didn't think much of it…"

"But he'd gotten your illness, hadn't he?" Japan finished, earning a nod from the Brit.

"Yeah. I think he told me a few years ago that Ireland had come over and helped him through it – making sure to wear a mask first, of course. That was something that Wales never wore in the time he was taking care of me."

"So…how are you returning the favour?" Italy frowned in confusion.

"Well, he was there for me when I was suffering, so surely it'd only be fair if I was there for _him_ while _he's_ suffering." England replied. "Speaking of which," he stood up, "I better go see him."

"Okay! Oh, and Ireland told me and Japan to go to our room, so he might tell you the same thing." Italy warned, and the blonde chuckled under his breath before leaving the room.

* * *

As soon as he got to Wales' room, he found it buzzing with activity. Wales lay in his bed, Ireland right beside him, looking shaken up by something. Canada and New Zealand were making sure that the 'patient' was comfortable. And then there was France, who was lecturing Scotland on something-

England froze as he realised that Scotland wasn't resting. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the way that the injured nation's fingers twitched, as if he wanted to clutch his chest but he didn't want to worry anyone.

"Scotland!" The Brit called loudly, briskly walking over. "You should be resting! How did you even get past America?"

"That's what I'd like to know." France cut off what he was originally saying as he folded his arms. "And I sent Australia to keep an eye on you while America went to get you some water, so how did you escape _both_ of them?"

Scotland chuckled nervously, avoiding everyone's gazes, as Ireland, Canada and New Zealand were listening in. "That's…that's a funny story."

England sighed. "What did you do? C'mon, out with it."

"I uh, may or may not have-" The rest of his sentence was muffled into his hand. At France's disapproving glare, he decided a blunt approach would be better. "I trapped Australia in the closet when he was off-guard…"

France's eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "You _what_?!"

"And when America came back, I drank the water and then he brought up Australia, and I…uh…I kinda stunned him and threw him into the same closet that Australia was in."

"Then what?" England asked, knowing that there was more.

"I…I pushed the chest of drawers in front of the doors to keep them shut in."

Ireland facepalmed. "I cannot believe I'm related to you."

"Well _so-rry_ for being worried about Wales." He folded his arms and stuck his bottom lip out, acting childish to try and lighten the mood. "Anyway, I'm sure he'll be fine for now."

As if on cue, Wales' stomach chose that moment to suddenly lurch and rebel against him, and New Zealand rushed to get the small bin in the corner of the room as Wales leant over the bed (away from the cluster of people on the left-hand side) and promptly threw up everything that he had eaten that day.

Ireland quickly walked round to the other side of the bed as another wave of vomiting hit the Welshman, and he helped keep his hair back and rub comforting circles on his back. In between the violent heaving, Wales whimpered and curled his fingers around the covers of his bed.

"Guys, could you go, please? Not to be rude or anything, but I'd prefer it if there was only one or two people in here – y'know, to give Wales some space." Ireland addressed them. "Shh, it's alright," he whispered to his brother as he whimpered once more, "just let it all out."

"Scotland, you're coming with me." France said as he pulled the Scot to his feet. "We're going to free America and Australia, and you're going to apologise for trapping them in the first place."

"I'll come help you." Canada murmured. "I bet America's really mad right now. I'm surprised he hasn't destroyed the closet doors already."

"You'll probably need my help as well," New Zealand grinned, "'cause trust me, Australia is most definitely ticked off right now, and I'm great at calming him down. Most of the time, anyway." Then he glanced at the bin, which Wales was currently dry heaving into, with Ireland desperately trying to soothe him.

"I'll stay and help out." England declared, already crouching down and taking the bin from New Zealand. "You can all go and deal those two; I'd rather not be a part of that, to be honest."

"I don't blame you." Ireland muttered under his breath. "Alright then; everyone else, clear off!"

Grumbling under his breath, Scotland let himself be dragged out the room by France, Canada and New Zealand following close behind.

Once the door shut, England gazed in worry at his suffering brother.

"Don't worry, it's fine; you're alright, just try to take deep breaths, okay?" Ireland murmured to Wales, who was panting but had fortunately ceased his dry heaving.

England put the bin to one side and stood up, helping Ireland settle Wales back in the middle of the bed, replacing the washcloth on his head.

"It's…been a while since we've done this." The Irishman said.

"What?" The Brit frowned.

"You and me taking care of someone together. It was normally you getting sick." He smiled sadly. "But then…we kind of lost contact, didn't we? You left to strengthen your own country, form an empire, etc, and we…well, we just stayed back and allowed it to happen. We just let you become super-powerful, and slowly drift away from us. In fact, if it weren't for the UK, I'm sure that you would have never spoken to us-" Ireland mentally chided himself for saying such a harsh thing. "Sorry-"

"No, I understand."

Ireland nodded and gazed at Wales' flushed face. "Wales always did have a weak immune system…" He mumbled, mostly to himself, before shaking his head and getting up. "I'll go clean out the bin. Can you keep an eye on him for me?" England nodded, and he left.

"You know, I'm really sorry about the whole incident with the pneumonic plague a few centuries or so ago. I don't think I ever thanked you, did I? And I didn't help you when you got it, when I should've. I'm sorry for that – I'm sorry for a lot of things."

He sighed, and let his hand wander to Wales', where he began stroking the back of his hand with his thumb (exactly what Ireland had done before). "If you ever found out who the last person on the list of people that are the 'best options' for picking me up – basically the people I trust the most and find that I can confide in them if it truly wanted to; well, it would be disastrous if you found out. Seeing as…"

He trailed off, before finishing, "…it's you."

Somewhere, in Wales' fever-addled brain, he heard this, and was shocked, but happy all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Have you noticed how my updates are getting more frequent and longer? I'm not entirely sure why, to be honest.
> 
> Oh, and thank God I managed to escape another flashback with a simple retelling! I think I would have died (and all of you would have) if I had to go through yet another flashback. 
> 
> And yes, Wales is still suffering, because I'm an ass who loves making these poor, innocent characters suffer. I know, I know, I'm a horrible person. But at least the secret of who the last person was is finally revealed! Man, I've really got to stop with all this suspense and secrets and stuff. It hurts my brain. And to put it simply, it's basically saying that England trusts Wales the most out of his three brothers…


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, someone else is suffering, and we have Flashback Time...again. Afterwards, Canada remembers that the world meeting is very soon, and they have little time to prepare for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

To say Scotland was reluctant to go to his room was an understatement, however childish it may sound. Facing the wrath of two people in his weakened state (however much it pained him to admit it) could – no, _was_ – bad for his health.

Sighing, he dropped his head to his chest in defeat and allowed himself to be dragged across the hallway by France. Unfortunately, it didn't take long to reach his room, where the door was still open. They could hear muffled shouting which was undeniably America. At first, they thought he was just shouting insults, but as they got closer, it became more serious.

"Someone help! Australia's dead!"

Canada's response to this was a facepalm. "America, I'm sure he's _not_ dead-"

"Is that you, Canada, dude? Get me out of here so I can bring Australia back to life."

"Why do you think he's dead?" France asked, slowly beginning to move the chest of drawers out the way, with the help of Canada and New Zealand, while Scotland hung back, seeming almost nervous.

Once the piece of furniture was moved away from the closet, the doors swung open, revealing a worried America, with Australia slumped against him. As the doors opened, the Australian fell forward. Luckily, New Zealand was there to catch him.

"Aus!" He cried, flinching at how cold his neighbour's skin was. _He's always warm, so why is he stone cold?_ "America! What did you do?!"

The American came out of the closet, dusting himself off. "I didn't do anything, dude! He just suddenly fell asleep- well, that's what I thought, until I tried to wake him up and found that he was really freakin' cold!" Then he spotted Scotland, and narrowed his eyes. "You!" He pointed at the Scot. "You killed Australia!"

"I did not!" Scotland retorted, folding his arms. "If I had to guess, it's probably his claustrophobia or something. I completely forgot about it up until now."

"Wait, what? He has claustrophobia?" America frowned. "And how would you know, anyway?"

"Because sometimes I'd look after him. After all, I am kind of an uncle to all England's colonies." He puffed his chest out, digging his nails into his arms as his injury protested against the movement.

"Maybe…" New Zealand murmured, looking at Australia's face, "or perhaps it's because of… _that_."

"Because of what?" Canada asked, stepping closer.

The Kiwi sighed, biting his lip. "I think being trapped in the closet reminded him of something." At everyone's curious looks, he added, "You heard of the Gallipoli Campaign?"

No more words were said, as France paled and Scotland froze. "You don't mean…?" Scotland trailed off, filled with dread.

"Wasn't that in World War One?" Canada asked, confused by the others' reactions.

"That's right." France replied, voice wavering slightly. "Well, we better get him onto Scotland's bed." This earned an objection from the Scot, to which France simply replied, "You can sit on a chair or something. I'm sure you're on the road to recovery already."

Once the task of putting Australia on the bed was complete, New Zealand busied himself with pulling the covers up, almost to his neck and sitting to the side of his neighbour on the bed. Scotland quickly found a chair and sat down in it, whilst France stood.

"Why are so many people suffering today?" Canada muttered as he leant against the wall near the door. "First Scotland's scar reopens, then Wales experiences a really bad memory, and now Australia's…what? Is he also experiencing a memory?" He raised his voice a bit on the last sentence, earning a shrug from America.

"Dunno. But I thought this was supposed to be a good day?" America glanced at his brother.

"It was. Sure doesn't feel like one now." The Canadian sighed and addressed the others. "Uh…what happened exactly at Gallipoli, then? I mean, to make being trapped in a closet bring it back?"

New Zealand looked at him with sadness brimming in his eyes. "If I'm correct, then as well as having a really bad claustrophobic attack, it's also the day he got the horrible scar on his nose."

America frowned and leant forward slightly from his position next to his brother on the wall. "Really? He never told me how he got it."

"It's…a touchy subject with him." France replied.

* * *

~Australia's POV (a good few minutes before)~

I cannot _believe_ that Scotland trapped me and America in the closet! This is what we get for helping him, is it?

I watch as America tries to ram the door open, but he seems to hold back.

"Hey, why are you holding back?" I ask curiously. "Why don't you just break the door down?"

"'Cause what if I hit Scotland?"

"He locked us in a _closet_ , mate. I'd say it's revenge."

"But he's hurt. I don't like hurting people who are already hurt."

I roll my eyes playfully. "How noble of you." I subtly bite my lip as I try to ignore the growing feeling that the walls are closing in. I hate the fact that I have claustrophobia. I try to hide it from as many people as possible, but there's still a good handful who know. I probably have it because my country is large and not really cramped, so I got used to the feeling of spacious surroundings. This worked against me, because now I can feel a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

I notice how close America is, and the clothes around us which seem to engulf us, and it reminds me of the accident just over a century ago…

I shake my head to try and forget about the memory of what happened in the first war I was in. America notices the movement.

"Australia, dude? What's up?"

In an effort to distract myself from both the memory and the walls, I smile weakly. "The sky."

America laughed, and I try to, but it comes out so forced that it's obvious that something's bothering me. "No, seriously. What's the matter?" He asks, stepping closer.

My eyes squeeze shut as the close proximity between us only makes my claustrophobia worse, and my breathing increases against my will.

"What is it?" He takes yet another step closer, if it's at all possible, and I feel my mind being drawn into the memory and vaguely register the fact that I'm falling forward, and then there's arms around me, and then I'm lost to reality.

* * *

~In Australia's head~

_Originally, I thought that the prospect of war was merely a competition for people to prove themselves. How foolish of me to think that way. No, war is actually just kill or be killed. You're both the predator and the prey._

_I glance around me, grimacing at the metallic scent of blood and the depressing smell of despair. These men all shared the same views as me at first, only to find out that they were horribly wrong._

_I sigh as the sound of artillery being fired overhead fills my ears, and I know that I have to get up and fight again. But it was obvious that the Turks had the advantage, what with the landing going wrong, and instead of a large beach, we end up on a crowded, rocky one with towering cliffs. They also had the cliffs, which made it easier for them to attack us. We had to hide in the rough trenches until the order came to attack again._

_Getting to my feet, I grab my bayonet and leap out of the trench, glad that I'm no longer in a crowded space but now I'm out in the open, where I could easily be shot. And now I have to kill people again, and watch as my people die. I sure hope New Zealand is okay. We can't die, but we can sure as hell feel our people die. And that's_ worse _than dying._

_But I can't be so miserable. These soldiers are like candles, and I'm the match. If they see at least one person in high spirits, then it lights a fire in them. And that task is usually left to me._

_Charging across the battlefield, I flinch as I feel a stab of pain in my chest, in my heart, and I know that a small group of Australians have just been annihilated. But I continue on. That's what they say in war, isn't it? If someone next to you falls, if your entire squad falls, you have to keep marching on. Even if you're the last person left in your army, you have to keep fighting, until you too fall._

_One of the worst things about war is the fact that after a while, you get used to the screams. At first, you wince at every scream, and feel sick as a scream of agony is cut short by the release of one more bullet. But you get used to it. They fade into background noise. And that thought is sickening._

_Suddenly, I have to stop firing and convert to close combat, using the weapon on the end of my bayonet to slash at the enemies around me. Because as well as having forces on the tops of the peninsula, the Turks also have them in trenches on the beach, and these forces are the ones we're currently engaging._

_Then there's a tall, tough-looking Turk in front of me, and he has a bayonet as well. I recognise him as none other than Turkey, the nation I'd seen pictures of and heard of, but never actually met._

_Our weapons clash as we try to defeat each other. I shove him back with enough force to send him stumbling slightly backwards, and I take my chance to twist my bayonet up and fire. However, my aim is off, and the bullet pierces his upper right arm instead of his chest. He grunts in pain, regaining his balance and tightening his grip on his bayonet, which surprises me. Why didn't being shot seem to faze him?_

_My confusion is what costs me, as he brings his weapon up and slashes me right across the nose, deep enough to hit the bone. Surprised, I stagger backwards, and he steadies his bayonet and pulls the trigger. The bullet tears into my left side, and white-hot pain flares up and down my body. I gasp and almost drop my bayonet as my right hand wraps around my side, leaving my left hand to hold onto the weapon._

_"_ _You should never have entered the war." Turkey mutters, about to turn away when I grab his shoulder with my quickly bloodied right hand._

_"_ _I'll be back, mate, and I swear I'll have my revenge." I grin confidently, and he narrows his eyes._

_"_ _Are you…Australia?" He asks, unsure._

_"_ _One and only." I cough, but keep up my grin, which is becoming more strained by the second. "You better be ready when we next fight, 'cause I'll definitely beat you!"_

_Turkey smiled faintly. "I look forward to it." With that, he walked away, raising his bayonet to fight someone else, even though he hadn't given his injured arm a break yet._ Maybe it's because he often hurt in a fight, so he's used to it, _I think, before adding miserably,_ like I'm used to people screaming.

_My grin falters as my legs buckle under me. The world tilts, and black spots appear at the edges of my vision, but I'm not done yet. I can't give in. Not yet!_

_Determined, I struggle to my feet and keep fighting, aware of the blood that pours out of my wound. I don't care about that, because it won't kill me. Someone like me…we can't be killed from simple blood loss. But the other soldiers can. That's why I have to give this my all!_

_As I continue to cut down the enemies around me, I find it hard to see through my blurry and dark vision, and I feel like I'm going to suffocate from the blood which floods down my face from my nose._

_Gritting my teeth, I struggle on until my legs give way once more, and all me remaining energy goes into trying to keep my eyes open._

_Next thing I know, I'm on a stretcher and I'm slowly opening my eyes. Wait- when did I close them? I can hear the stretcher-bearers telling me to hang on, and then I'll be okay – well of course I will, I'm a nation, after all. But they don't know that. They think I'm an ordinary soldier, an ordinary human, because they can't possibly know what I really am._

_My breath hitched once as the stretcher jerked upwards suddenly, but other than that, we get to the trench with no incident. It isn't safe for us to go to one of the ships for medical treatment as the Turks were bombarding the place with shrapnel, which we all knew were sometimes more deadly than bullets._

_Then the same stretcher-bearer from before speaks to me. The other ones have left, with the stretcher, to search for more wounded. "You've just got to hang on, okay?"_ Well, I can't exactly die.

 _"_ _Stay awake, alright?"_ But I'm tired.

 _"_ _It'll all be over soon."_ Why do I doubt that?

 _I sigh and try to move, only for searing pain to lance up my side, and I have to quickly bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. I'm on my back, so if I move onto my right side…no, it would still hurt. Not to mention the lack of space to move around. My breathing unwillingly quickens as I realise just how_ cramped _the trench is._

_Suddenly, a loud cry is heard. "Watch out!" But it's too late, and a hand-grenade lands on the ground about ten metres or so from where we are. The other man reaches over me, tries to protect me, even when I open my mouth to say 'no, I'll be fine! Save yourself!' – but it's all for nought as the lack of energy in my body stops me from uttering a sound, and the explosion swallows us whole._

* * *

_When I next open my eyes (when did I close them?), I'm still in the trench, except I'm stuck in a crater, surrounded by dirt, sandbags and…bodies. Dead ones, that are still bleeding. All over me, and I can do nothing to stop it._

_My body aches and burns all over, but it's my nose and left side which hurt the most. I feel really disorientated – probably from blood loss. I can't seem to move either of my arms – my left causes the pain to spike in my side, and my right because it's horribly burnt and I suddenly feel queasy when I catch a flash of white which I recognize as a bone-_

_Swallowing the bile that rushes up my throat, I try to distract myself, and realise that it's fairly quiet. Perhaps the fighting's stopped? I'm not sure, but I'm relieved._

I wonder how New Zealand's doing, _I think, coughing weakly._ I hope he's okay.

_My mind snaps back to where I currently am as my nose throbs painfully, and I tense, trying to lift one of my hands to clutch it, only to find that neither arm is currently available for me to use for another reason than before – they're trapped. I wriggle and squirm, ignoring the pain as I try to escape, but it's no use. I panic, certain that my air supply will suddenly disappear. Suffocating to death is one thing, but suffocating until the air returns is something very different and much worse._

_I try shouting for help, but my throat hurts too much and the energy wasted on wriggling about takes its toll on me. Plus, the sound of shots being fired shatters the peace, and I sigh in defeat, knowing that no-one could hear me now._

* * *

~Normal POV~

* * *

~Real world~

New Zealand took a deep breath and grabbed another cloth. The scar on Australia's nose had opened up, just like Scotland's had done.

Australia was currently laid on his back, worryingly still. He looked in pain, but wasn't curled up. The most unnerving thing of all was the fact that his eyes were open, staring unblinkingly into nothingness as they were glazed over.

"So…what exactly is going on?" America asked, confused.

"To put it simply, Australia's going through the same sort of thing that happened to Wales. Someone-" France hid 'Scotland' under a cough, "-does something, and it triggers a memory. For Wales, it was one where he was…" He trailed off, glancing at Scotland, who shook his head. "Anyway, and presumably Australia's is about the accident in the Gallipoli Campaign."

"'Accident'? What happened?" Canada then frowned. "But how do you know about it?"

"I was a senior officer positioned not far away on a separate mission. Once that was completed, I decided to see how things were going." France explained.

"I was one of the British commanders," Scotland added, "and I helped New Zealand save Australia. France helped us get him onto one of the ships or medical attention."

"'Medical attention'?" Canada's eyes widened. "Whatever happened must have been really bad."

"Well, if you want, I could tell you about it." New Zealand offered.

"You could? Seriously? Please, dude!" America's interest was piqued.

New Zealand nodded and took a deep breath.

* * *

~Flashback~

_New Zealand was unnerved by the loud explosion that occurred in a trench not far from him, but he couldn't check it out as he was engaged in close combat fighting with the enemy._

_As soon as the firing ceased, he immediately rushed over to the demolished trench, searching for any survivors, however unlikely that would be. He hadn't seen Australia for a while, and it was beginning to worry him – no, it had worried him the entire time._

_Squinting, he could just make out what looked like a small brass pin of a koala on the front of a muddy, bloody and burnt uniform – one that he had given Australia before the war starter._

_"_ _Aus!" He cried, before correcting himself as he got questioning stares from the soldiers near him. "Are there any Australians alive down there? Shout if you can hear me!"_

_He strained his hearing, desperate to hear something,_ anything _, that would show that he was alive. Nations couldn't die that easily, right? So…why was Australia not responding to him?_

_New Zealand's heart skipped a beat as he heard a faint whimper. It was quiet, but still there. This gave him a sudden rush of adrenaline, and he dove forward, using his hands to dig through the dirt and sand that had caved in on the trench. He saw the bodies on top of the spot where he'd spotted the brass koala pin, and he knew that he'd probably have to drag them out of the destroyed trench to get to the trapped nation._

_"_ _Oi! What're you doing?!" A sudden voice made him jump, and he paused and glanced over his shoulder to see Scotland marching up to him, ignoring the firing that had started again. "There won't be anyone alive down there! Why are you bothering to try and save them?" He didn't sound harsh, just…tired. Exhausted from the war, no doubt. New Zealand wasn't used to the sharp pains in his chest as his men died in battle. The fatigue that crept up on the soldiers also affected the nation that they're from, he knew this._ Scotland must have it worse than me, _he thought._

_"_ _Sco-" He began, but the older man cut him off._

_"_ _Allistor here. Don't casually throw out our country names here." He whispered, before raising an eyebrow at New Zealand's distraught face. "What's the matter?"_

_"_ _Au- I mean, Jett's trapped under here! I need your help!" He cried, going back to his frantic digging, not caring about how his fingernails broke and the rocks dug into his skin._

_Scotland nodded and helped him. It didn't take long for them to get down to the bodies, and together, they hauled the bodies of three men off the trapped man underneath._

_Once they saw the extent of his injuries, Scotland cursed under his breath. New Zealand's breath hitched as he saw the blood coating the front of Australia's uniform, more blood flowing down his face from a deep cut on his nose and the nasty burns on his right side._

_Scotland reaches down and gently picks his nephew up while New Zealand stares in horror._

_"_ _-land! Oi! Are you listening to me?" The Scot's voice snaps the Kiwi out of his frozen stupor, and he frowns to show that he didn't hear what he said. Scotland sighed with impatience. "I said we've got to get him on a ship with a doctor. He needs immediate medical attention!"_

_"_ _But I thought nations heal quickly!"_

_"_ _There's a bullet in his left side, and if we don't get an experienced doctor to get it out then he'll get blood poisoning and everything'll get worse!" He hissed, tucking his arms under Australia's underarms and pulling him up. New Zealand grasped on what he was doing and grabbed the injured nation's legs, before they began jogging as far away from the fighting as they dared without drawing attention to themselves._

_"_ _Mon dieu!" A surprised exclamation startled them, and they turned to see France, accompanied by half a dozen French soldiers, walking towards them. "What on earth…?"_

_"_ _Long story, don't know all the details, but he needs a doctor_ now _." Scotland replied, locking eyes with the Frenchman._

_France bit his lip and turned to his soldiers. "Find the nearest small vessel and bring it over here. We need to get to a ship with a doctor immediately."_

_"_ _Sir, with all due respect, the extent of his injuries is very severe. I doubt he'll make it-" One of the soldiers hesitantly objected._

_"_ _He's a fighter. And as long as there's still a breath in his body, we must try to save him. Make haste, for we do not the time to dawdle!" With a chorused 'yes, sir!', five soldiers raced off, with one staying behind as protection for his commander._

_It didn't take long for a small English destroyer to be brought round, and the crew of the ship helped bring Australia, New Zealand and Scotland on board while France and his soldiers waved them off and entered the fray._

_~End of flashback~_

* * *

New Zealand sighed once he finished telling the story.

"You know, one of the worst things about it is that it was his first war, his first great battle…and his first great failure." France murmured.

"When he was coherent enough to say who did it to him, and I found out that it was Turkey himself…you don't even know how angry I was." New Zealand looked down. "But…Australia and I ran into Turkey when we were getting back on board to retreat, and he asked for a quiet word with us both."

"What did he say to you guys?" America asked.

The Kiwi smiled softly. "He said that we fought bravely, even if the campaign was lost. And he said something like 'do you still think you can beat me in the next fight we have?' or something to Australia. He was still in pain and struggling to stand up straight, but grinned regardless and replied with a 'you bet, mate'. I had absolutely no idea what they meant. Both Australia and I forgave Turkey for the wounds he inflicted on him, and it's all in the past. But…Australia's still fairly sensitive on the subject of the Gallipoli Campaign, and I'm not entirely sure why. But I have a couple of good ideas to explain why."

Canada nodded. "That makes sense. Wait…" His eyes widened. " I completely forgot! Mentioning Turkey reminded me that the next world meeting's in just under a week, in Ankara!"

America gasped. "Same here! With all the chaos with England, it slipped my mind! I've got to prepare for it!"

"It can't be _that_ bad." Scotland sniffed, crossing his arms and leaning back on his chair.

France, who was significantly paler than usual, swallowed. "You don't understand. England usually goes to represent the UK, but you haven't seen what happens when you come completely unprepared. If you're even slightly disorganized, you have to suffer the wrath of Germany…" he shuddered, "I've already suffered it three times. It's scary."

"I'll go remind the others!" America stated, scrambling out of the door and on his way to Japan and Italy, who seemed to have been forgotten about.

Bursting through the door, he yelled, "Guys! The world meeting's next week! We have less than a week to get ready for it!"

Japan's eyes widened. "Ah! I completely forgot! Thank you, America-san, for reminding me!" Italy nodded in agreement to what he said.

"Yeah, okay. But Australia's currently out of it, so if you have any spare time, could you help him as well?" America asked, making sure that the door still opened and closed properly.

"What? What's wrong with him, ve~?!" Italy frowned.

"Long story. Tell you later. Gotta go!" With that, the American ran out of the room and towards Wales' room.

He was about to throw open the door when he remembered that he should probably be quiet around Wales. Instead, he opted for knocking and opening the door without waiting for an answer. He was greeted with the sight of Ireland sitting on the bed while England was pacing the room. Wales was still unconscious, and had a cool cloth atop his forehead. He had to squint to see all this, though, as the room was extremely dark.

"Guys!" America hissed as quietly as he could. "We are so screwed right now!"

England stopped pacing and turned to the American. "Why?"

"The world meeting in Ankara! That's all the way in Turkey, dude!"

"Yes, I know where Ankara is. And the meeting…when exactly is it?" England bit his lip.

"Uh…five or six days. It'll take like…a day or something to get there and get sorted out, too! We're so dead!"

Ireland turned to his younger brother. "England, are you able to go to this meeting as not only a representation of your country, but of the UK?"

He nodded. "Of course."

The Irishman furrowed his brows. "I'm not sure if it's a good idea for you to go…"

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. I can take whatever the rest of the world throws at me."

"Don't forget dude; the hero will be there to protect you!" America grinned.

England rolled his eyes. "That's a nice gesture and all, but I don't need protecting."

The American poked his shoulder. "That's what you think."

"Well…I'll stay here and keep an eye on Scotland and Wales, lest they have a relapse or something, however doubtful that may be. Scotland seems almost back to normal, but it's like Wales is suffering from a migraine or something."

"Seriously? So _that's_ why it's so dark in here!" America glanced round the room, wincing as the sudden rise in his voice caused Wales to whimper. "Sorry dude." He whispered, before glancing back at the door. "Well, I better get going. I've got to be ready!"

With that, he left the room, and England's confident façade came crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yeah, I know. Another person suffering, another flashback. Don't worry; that was the last one. In fact, this story's drawing to a close in a few chapters. :o
> 
> Oh, and if anyone spotted the small Gravity Falls reference, I will be very proud of you.
> 
> One last thing: in the flashback, New Zealand called Australia 'Jett'. I will bring that up now; I'm working on another Hetalia story that may (or may not) be released soon, and it's kind of a Human AU, but at the same time a War AU. And Australia's in it. 
> 
> Now, he isn't related to England in it, so his last name can't be Kirkland. But for his first name, I'm stuck between Jett or Kyle, but I'm leaning towards Jett. And then there's the case of the last name. New Zealand's already sorted out with James Green (what? I like it, so I'm using it. I don't care if it's wrong, it has a nice ring to it), but Australia's…not so much. So, if any of you have any suggestions, please comment and tell me!
> 
> Bye~


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is actually recovering instead of suffering, and no flashbacks, don't worry. And then the day of the world meeting arrives. Kind of a filler chapter, but all the good stuff comes next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ah, it's been a while (or just a week, but who cares). Now, I have an announcement: this story is ending in either two or three chapters (including this one). In about four months, it would mark the 1-year anniversary (on fanfiction.net) of the start of the story, but there's no need to stretch it out until it covers a year. Oh, and the final chapters may come out earlier than normal. This may be a way of rushing the ending of the story, but really, I'll just get ideas for the ending and want to write it all up.
> 
> Once this story is completed, I will be working on two new ones: one is a crossover between Free!, Kuroko no Basuke and Haikyuu, and somehow magic and stuff gets involved (I'll say no more!); and the other's a Hetalia one featuring both a War AU and a Human AU. Of course, it may be a while until I publish either of these, considering the first one is going to be published along with the first three chapters and the second one is…questionable, but keep an eye out for them!
> 
> Okay, I'm rambling too much, so I'll be quiet and let you read this chapter! Enjoy~
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

It was almost early morning when Wales properly woke up. Ireland and England couldn't be more relieved as they watched his eyes slowly appear from under his lids. His fever had spiked a couple of hours ago, and as a result he had been delirious as hell. If England hadn't put a hand over his mouth, he would have finished uttering a spell which would have made the room go up in flames (of course, Wales had no idea what was going on at the time).

Luckily, after that incident, his temperature began to return to normal. Unfortunately, the stress caused by the sudden spike had caused him to throw up again – but it was more a case of dry heaving, as the contents of his stomach had already left him.

When the world came into focus, Wales noted the tired yet relieved smiles of Ireland and England s they gazed at him. His throat felt sore and his body ached, and he vaguely remembered seeing his supposedly dead brothers freeing him from the hideout, only to suddenly appear in a room where one of them was completely unharmed right in front of him. He couldn't remember anything after that, though.

He tried to say something, but any attempt at words only came out as a broken groan. Next thing he knew, he was being gently lifted into a sitting position and a glass of soothing cold water was being slowly poured into his mouth. It helped his throat and eased the pain in his stomach slightly, which he was glad for because he felt the urge to curl up into the fetal position and yet found he couldn't – probably due to the lack of energy in his exhausted body.

Sighing, he attempted to clear his throat and ended up entering a short coughing fit.

"Shh, deep breaths, yeah?" Ireland rubbed his back as he ceased his coughing.

"Ughhh…" He moaned and used what little energy he had left to wrench himself away from what was actually England's grip that helped keep him in a sitting position, only to curl up, arms wrapped firmly around his stomach as the pain suddenly increased.

"Shh, shh…it's alright." The Irishman cooed as he made the mistake of running a hand through Wales' hair. The action was meant to be comforting, but instead made him utter a high-pitched whine of discomfort and pain and curl further in on himself, almost fully submerged under the covers at this point.

"I have to go get ready for the meeting, Ireland." England stated quietly, although the reluctance to do so was clear in his voice.

"I know. And don't worry; I can handle this. Besides, I'm sure you'll drop in as much as you can." Then an idea popped into his head. "Oh, can you check on Scotland and Australia? I haven't heard back from anyone about what happened, and I don't know whether that's a good or a bad thing."

England nodded. "Okay. See you soon." He lowered his voice even more to add, "Get well soon, Wales." With that, he left the room, almost silently shutting the door behind him.

Sighing, the Brit began walking to Scotland's room, presuming that the two people he had to check on were still in there. However, when he did in fact enter the room, he found the situation entirely different from what he'd originally predicted it to be.

Australia was tucked into Scotland's bed, with New Zealand fussing over him, paying especial attention to the scar on his nose, which had strangely reopened. America, Canada and France were nowhere to be seen, but Scotland still remained there, sat on a chair and gently rubbing his chest.

"England-san!" Japan exclaimed in surprise as England walked in, which also startled the latter. How long had he been standing there?!

"J-Japan! Sorry, I didn't notice you there!" He cried, before sighing as he saw how Australia's face was creased in discomfort and he seemed to be in pain. "This was _supposed_ to be a normal day," he murmured, mostly to himself, "so how come three people have suffered today?"

"Because the cruel strings of fate are in motion." Japan answered calmly. "With so many nations gathered here, it was almost inevitable for something bad to occur on a day which is supposed to be good. We all have our karma. We all have our bad luck. And we all have our share of having fate hold a grudge against us which is strong, in fact, that it can cause a chain reaction of unfortunate events to happen."

England hummed in agreement. "If Scotland hadn't have told his story, then his scar wouldn't have reopened. If his scar hadn't reopened, then Wales wouldn't have re-experienced his memory. If Wales hadn't re-experienced his memory, then Scotland wouldn't've locked Australia in the closet and caused him to be suffering right now. Chain reactions which are triggered by fate simply are the worst."

"I agree. But I think the worst of it is over. Scotland-san seems a lot better. I think Wales-san is on the road to recovery, and the worst of Australia-san's memory seems to be over. At one point, Australia-san suddenly lashed out, and ended up kicking Scotland-san…um…what do you prefer to call it? 'The place where the sun doesn't shine' or something?"

England failed to stifle a snort. "Oh. I get what you mean. And…I don't suppose he's sulking now because of it? Although I daresay that he deserved it, considering that he is partially – no, _mostly_ \- to blame for Australia's suffering." Scotland growled from his chair, but made no further comment.

Japan nodded. "Although I do not wish illness or suffering upon someone, I do agree with the fact that Scotland-san deserved it for locking Australia-san in the closet."

"Oh, and Japan?"

"Yes?"

"You can drop the honorifics, you know."

"Wh-what?"

England smiled softly. "I understand that using honorifics when addressing someone is part of your culture, but you've known us for a while now. When you add '-san' after our names, it makes us think that you may feel that you are not close enough to us yet. Let me tell you this; you're one of my closest friends. I'm sure it's the same with the others. Trust me on this, and don't add '-san' after our names, as if we deserve your respect."

"But England-"

"We've all done things that we're not proud of. Some more than others. Some of our sins are so bad that we later hate ourselves for it. We nations have lived longer than an ordinary human, meaning that we have more time to commit more sins. We nations are not deserving of respect; trust me on that."

"I…didn't realise you thought like that. I thought that if you atone for your sins, then you can be forgiven and the deep wounds will heal over time."

"Yes, but those wounds often form scars."

"Hmm…I suppose you're right. Very well; I will drop the honorific if it makes you feel better."

"It's not a matter of me feeling better; it's a matter of giving us what we deserve."

"If you two have _quite_ done your little meaningful chit-chat," Scotland butted in, catching their attention, "I would prefer it if you two actually prepared for the upcoming meeting. I don't exactly want to endure the wrath of a certain organisation-crazy Germany-"

"Germany-sa- _Germany_ isn't an 'organisation-crazy' person at all!" Japan objected. "He just prefers everything to be orderly."

Scotland shrugged. "I don't think he likes me."

Japan cocked his head to the side and frowned. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I uh…I tried to get him drunk one time, and when he figured out what I was up to…well, let me just say he wasn't very happy about it."

"I'm actually surprised you're still alive right now." England muttered.

"Yeah…it wasn't pretty. I was only curious about what mood he's in when he's drunk, considering the fact that's he usually so neat and orderly. If he was emotional when he's intoxicated, then I figured I would be able to get some great blackmail material."

"You know, you remind me of Prussia at times." The Brit stated. "Oh, and Germany has a high alcohol tolerance."

"As do I."

"You'd be flat out drunk before he started to get slightly woozy."

"Doubtful." Scotland scoffed. "I really want a drinking contest with him now."

"Now who's wasting time?" England smirked. "Anyway, we better prepare. I haven't even written down anything to discuss! My God, I'm so unprepared!" With that, he turned and headed towards the door, but paused. "Oh, and I don't think Australia's as bad as Wales. He should be fine within a few days or so. …It was a memory, wasn't it?"

New Zealand gazed at him silently before nodding. "How's Wales?"

"…Recovering, I suppose." England replied. "It's as if he's dealing with a migraine, to be honest. But his condition's improving, which is good."

Scotland sighed with relief. "Thank God. I was so worried about him." He locked eyes with the Brit, and England believed what he'd said as he saw just how relieved the Scot was at hearing that his second youngest brother would be okay.

No, not just that.

That they'd _all_ be okay.

* * *

~Day of the World Meeting~

It was pleasantly warm in Ankara, which made a nice change from the chilly United Kingdom. The nations who were at Scotland's house were…mostly prepared, but were still lacking in a few areas. They hoped that they wouldn't be singled out to have a speech or something about the topics that they hadn't fully revised.

Australia was still resting, deeply shaken by the memory, and so stayed with the other three brothers. New Zealand had to represent both him and his neighbour, but he didn't want Australia to come lest he overexert himself, considering he was mentally, emotionally and slightly physically weakened by the whole ordeal. This was the point the Kiwi had raised in an argument he'd had with Australia as he said that he needed (not wanted) to go. Of course, the latter had no chance in winning the argument, and thus was stuck at Scotland's house while the others went to (suffer) the world meeting.

England, unsurprisingly, seemed reluctant to go. They doubted that he could walk any slower, and they were pretty sure that he'd run out of excuses which were actually him stalling for time. As if going any later would make any difference. It would still be chaotic, late or not.

"Ah, we're here!" Canada exclaimed as the group of nations stood before the building where the meeting would be held. "I hope we're not late…" He quickly opened the double doors and walked in, glad to feel subtle air conditioning breeze across his skin. This relief was reflected in the others, as they knew that the meeting rooms were often warm from the body heat and the utter chaos that was somehow contained there.

The Brit swallowed nervously as he followed the Canadian to the main room, where a sign was posted on the door reading 'Room closed for world conference. No unauthorised personnel'.

Sighing, he frowned when he realised that no-one was going in. Not only that, but they were all looking at him. "What?" He asked, confusion written on his face.

"Dude, I- _we_ think that you should be the one to open the door." America replied, an excited gleam in his eyes. The crowd parted to form an open space between England and the door, with the rest of the world behind it.

"I…I don't think-" England began, but was cut off by France.

"You don't think you can do it? The task itself is fairly simple; what awaits, however, is not so simple." The Frenchman locked eyes with him. "Most people fear the unknown. Most people fear the unpredictable. And you're one of them."

"Yes, but-"

"But you're not alone, are you?"

"Well, no-"

"Oh, and I don't mean literally."

"…What?" England was confused. _If he doesn't mean literally, then what else could he possibly mean?_

"Do you feel alone?"

"…"

"Angleterre?"

"…Sometimes."

"Hmm…how did it go? In a crowded place, trying not to feel alone~"

England raised an eyebrow at this. "Quoting from songs, are we?"

"Which song is it?" America asked. It sounded familiar, but he just couldn't place it…

"Broken Ones by Jacquie Lee." Canada responded calmly, and America clicked his fingers.

"That's it! Seriously, that song is so great!"

France chuckled. "So Angleterre, is that how you feel?"

England knew what he was getting at. ' _In a crowded place, trying not to feel alone'…is that how I feel? Well…I suppose I used to…but recently, not so much- wait, did I actually just think that? I…don't feel so lonely anymore?_

"I…I don't feel so lonely anymore…" He murmured aloud by accident, but it was too late to take it back.

France smiled softly. "No, I don't suppose you do. Especially not after almost always having someone next to you these last couple of days."

"Uh…yeah, but what has this got to do with anything?"

The Frenchman stepped closer and laid a hand on the Brit's shoulder. "Because when you open the door, don't be overwhelmed. Don't be afraid. Don't feel alone. Because you have us to keep you safe."

"Please don't start getting all sentimental on me."

"I won't. But go ahead. Open the doors, and meet your fate, whatever that may be."

England took a deep breath and glanced around him, noting that they all wore encouraging smiles. Nodding, he walked forward and placed both hands on the doors, before pushing them open.

And that was when it happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And of course, there's a cliffhanger. You should know by now that I like to irritate you all by using cliffhangers.
> 
> Oh, and as I've just finished this chapter, I've decided that the next chapter will be the last *le gasp*. I'll say all the emotional bye-byes and thank-yous and the end of that chapter. It's kind of tradition for me to do that now (is tradition even the right word?).
> 
> Well, I'll see ya next chapter!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! It's the right ending of the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: FINAL CHAPTER! *le gasp* Can you believe this story is actually ending? I literally thought that there would be no end to my own story before. Is that bad?
> 
> Anyway, you know the drill. All the thank yous and stuff are at the end. Meanwhile, enjoy the chapter~
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Ireland thought it would be easy.

Oh, how wrong he was.

First, Scotland had all but _burst_ into Wales' room, acting like a little kid as he paraded round, puffing out his chest and declaring that he was '100% perfectly fine now'. Wales couldn't handle the loud noise that is his brother and it hurt his head _so_ much that he _cried_. So then Ireland had to multitask between comforting Wales and scolding Scotland.

To make things worse, Australia chose that moment to start having a panic attack (Ireland guessed that it was his memory making him feel claustrophobic and causing him to freak out. In fact, he was actually _screaming_ ¸ which not only made Wales worse but made the Irishman command Scotland to look after their little brother while he sprinted to Scotland's room to calm Australia down.

Upon entering, he immediately felt like he'd gotten the wrong room, due to the fact that the Australian _wasn't there._ However, a loud scream told him otherwise, and a sudden crash alerted him to under the bed.

 _You have_ got _to be kidding me,_ Ireland thought as he laid on his stomach and stared at a writhing Australia who seemed to be stuck _under_ the bed. Wasn't he supposed to be _on_ it?

"Hey! Australia! Can you hear me?!" He called, having to raise his voice above the wheezing gasps and screams emitting from the space under the bed.

"Z-Zea?!" He choked out, struggling to turn his head.

 _'_ _Zea'? Oh, he must mean New Zealand. Why does he think I'm New Zealand?_ Ireland thought as he replied, "No, it's Ireland!"

"Help me!" He screamed, and Ireland didn't even know if he'd heard him or not.

"I'm _trying_ to, but it would help if you stopped trying to hit me in the face. Just take deep breaths, okay?"

"I-I'm trapped!"

"Well, you are under a bed."

A loud pained scream was Australia's response to that. Ireland realised that he had to wriggle under the bed to help him.

Taking a deep breath, Ireland began to push the top half of his body under the bed, grimacing as he noticed just how little space there was. He wasn't exactly fond of tight spaces, but it wasn't on a level that Australia suffered from.

"G-get them off me!"

 _What?_ Ireland frowned. "Do you know where you are?"

"I'm stuck in the trench! Help!"

 _Ah, now it makes sense,_ Ireland thought with a sigh. "No, you're not. You're under a bed." _Wow, I never thought I would say that._

By now, Ireland was far enough under the bed that he could see why Australia hadn't escaped yet – his shirt was caught in a little gap in the bed frame. If he freed the Oceanic nation, then he could get out of there.

"Stay still a minute; I can help if you just freeze!" He commanded, and it fortunately reached Australia, even though he was tense and still panicking, he tried to minimise his frantic jerky movements as much as he could, enabling Ireland to reach up and start fighting with the bed frame in order to free Australia's shirt.

He cursed under his breath as the shirt was ripped free, but he'd managed to get a splinter in his middle finger.

"Okay, you're free now. Follow the sound of my voice, and take deep breaths, alright?" The Irishman began wriggling backwards, clutching his finger close to his chest and using his elbows to push himself the way he came.

He sighed with relief as he saw the taller nation making an effort to escape, although he looked more like a fish out of water, aimlessly flailing about. Reaching forward, Ireland grabbed Australia's wrist and yanked it towards him.

With a startled yelp, the Australian instinctively lashed out, narrowly missing breaking Ireland's arm before he became coherent enough to understand where he was and shot out from under the bed. Except it was the opposite side to the one Ireland was on, meaning that he had to go round the bed to help him calm down.

Once he'd accomplished this, the European nation gently shook his shoulder. "Hey, can you hear me?"

"Oi, I ain't deaf mate!" Australia snapped, although his voice sounded tired and lacked the normal energy he would have.

Ireland smiled softly and then glared, punching the other man on the arm. "You gave me such a scare! Honestly, what were you even _doing_ under there?!"

The brunette frowned at him. "What do you mean? I was in the open; basically a sitting duck. Some people are like sharks, y'know – attracted to blood. I had to get back to the trench. But then the explosion, it…" He trailed off, biting his lip and looking down.

"You mean to say that you were hallucinating?"

"What? No. Like I said, I had to get away before I was shot. Again…"

"No, you were in fact hallucinating. Probably an after-effect of the memory you had. I wasn't there, but I was told that it was awful. When you went in the 'trench' – actually under the bed – you got stuck and most likely saw the bodies on you like in the memory, causing you to freak out. Am I right?"

"I-I don't know anymore…" He sagged slightly, feeling exhausted.

Ireland smiled sympathetically. "Get some rest. You've had a tiring few days." As Australia curled up on the floor, Ireland nearly facepalmed. "No, not on the _floor;_ on the _bed_."

"Sometimes I had to sleep on the floor before."

"That was then, this is now. Besides, it's comfier on a bed."

Sighing, the Oceanic nation crawled onto the bed, as if properly standing up was too much effort, before gasping as he realised something.

"You have a splinter!" He then held out his hand expectantly.

"Well, yes, but-

"No buts; you helped me, so I'll help you. Now c'mon, give me your hand."

The Irishman raised an eyebrow. "I can handle it myself, thanks-"

"Trust me, I'm an expert when it comes to taking splinters out. After all, I had plenty of practice with the amount of splinters me and New Zealand got."

Reluctantly, Ireland laid his hand on Australia's, who quickly turned it over to inspect the damage in his middle finger. "Hmm…fairly deep, but not ever so. Should be quick and mostly painless."

"Wait, 'mostly painless'? What do you- ow!" He was cut off as the younger nation ripped the tiny piece of wood out of his finger.

Ireland raised his hand and turned it, before putting all of his fingers down except for his middle one, and grinned at Australia, who reflected his movements.

"Go on. Get some sleep." The Irishman tugged the covers over Australia.

"Yeah, mum."

"I'm not your mother."

"You are now…" With a content sigh, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

 _Hmm…would I make a good mother?_ He quickly shook off the thought and decided to check on Wales and Scotland before getting some rest himself.

* * *

~At the world meeting~

England had feared the worst. He'd imagined the other nations criticizing him, insulting him, telling him that he should have stayed in a coma or died, but not… _this_.

No, he'd never imagined the rest of the world cheering and clapping as he opened the double doors. He'd never imagined the rest of the world asking if he was alright, telling him that they were really worried and had no idea that he thought and felt that way. He'd never imagined the rest of the world congratulating him on his recovery. He'd never imagined the rest of the world _apologizing_ for the way they treated him before.

"Aiyah, if we'd ever known that you felt depressed, then we would never have acted that way! I'm so sorry, aru!" China cried, after forcing his way to the front of the crowd.

"Guys, c'mon, give him some space." America ordered, standing almost protectively next to England.

Everyone complied almost immediately, and shifted so they formed a sort of path (much like outside of the meeting room), leading to his chair. He walked to it slowly, and sat down, and thus the meeting began as the others followed to sit down in their respective seats.

Throughout the meeting, everyone was nice to England – but something felt off. They weren't forcing their kindness; they were generally happy to see him okay. But something wasn't quite right…

"Ooookay, time for the hero's solution to the world's problems!" America chirped as he nearly sent a couple people flying as he raced to the head to the 'head' of the table and began drawing on a large board. "So first, global warming!"

"We all know what you're going to say, Amérique. And we all disagree with you." France interrupted.

"I agree with France." Japan added, remembering to follow England's advice on dropping the honorifics.

"Have some backbone! Stop agreeing with everyone and start giving your own opinion!" Switzerland cried angrily.

A massive argument broke out between France, America and England, who decided that he just _had_ to get involved, and then in the space of a few seconds, the entire world meeting was in chaos.

" _Everyone shut up_!" Germany yelled, slamming his hands on the desk and successfully catching everyone's attention. After a brief set of instructions, Italy raised his hand, and Germany allowed him to speak.

The Italian closed his eyes and held his hand out, yelling, " _Pasta~!"_

Ah yes. _Now_ the meeting felt normal.

* * *

~After the world meeting~

When it ended, hardly anything was accomplished (as usual). England, after quick conversations with a few nations, had headed back to his house, but not before ringing Ireland.

It soon picked up, for which he was grateful for.

 _"_ _Hello? England, is that you?"_ Ireland spoke first.

"Yes, it's me."

_"_ _How did the meeting go?"_

England smiled. "Same as always."

_"_ _Ah, well that's good. I suppose you have a headache?"_

The Brit shrugged, despite knowing that Ireland wouldn't see the movement. "Only a minor one. I actually feel…kind of happy that it was chaotic. At first, they were being really nice to me, and it just felt like something was missing. And then the arguing breaks out, and…and it just feels normal."

A faint chuckle was heard on the other end. _"Yes well, as long as you're okay. Are you coming to Scotland's house now?"_

"No, I'm going to my own house. Oh- speaking of, how are they?"

Ireland sighed loudly. _"Scotland's back to normal; how wonderful. Australia had a panic attack after he got stuck under the bed, but he's sleeping now. And-"_

"What the hell was he doing _under_ the bed?"

_"_ _He was hallucinating due to the memory. Thought he was 'in the open' and had to get 'into the trench'. And Wales…he's slowly recovering. I think he was hit the worst of us all because of just how traumatic the memory was for him. Not to mention the confusion upon waking up the first time. But…he'll be fine."_

"Ah, that's good." England glanced at his watch. "Well, I better get a move on, before I miss my plane. I'll…see you whenever, yeah?"

 _"_ _Yeah. Bye~"_ With that, Ireland hung up, and England began walking to the airport alone.

However, once he arrived, he nearly facepalmed as he saw the mayhem outside. All of the nations formerly at Scotland's house were milling around at the entrance to the airport, bickering and being avoided by the normal civilians.

"What are you idiots doing?" England called with an exasperated sigh.

"Hello to you too, Angleterre." France said sarcastically.

"We left our stuff at Scotland's, so we're going there. Oh, and turns out we'll be on the same plane as you as well! Ha, can you believe it?" America grinned.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." The Brit sighed again, this time with irritation, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Yep, that headache was definitely going to get worse.

"Unfortunately not." New Zealand slung an arm over his shoulders casually, eyes twinkling with amusement, although there was something else in them.

"Come here a minute." England beckoned the Kiwi away from the crowd of nations, to which he followed with a frown. Lowering his voice, England asked, "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're worried about something – or some _one_."

New Zealand sighed and looked down. "It's just…I didn't want to leave Australia, and I don't know if he's okay or not…I'm just really worried about him."

The Brit smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry; I rang Ireland not long ago, and he says that Australia had a panic attack, but is otherwise okay."

The Kiwi looked as if he'd had a great weight taken off his chest. "Oh, thank God."

"Don't mention it." England hinted.

"Oh, right! Thanks, England."

He ruffled New Zealand's hair lovingly. "You're welcome. Now, when you and the others get back to Scotland's house, I'm sure he'll be at the door to greet you."

The Oceanic nation nodded happily, before frowning. "Wait- aren't you coming back with us?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm going back to my house. Alone."

"O-oh…okay then. We uh…better get going; wouldn't want to miss the plane."

Silently agreeing, England led the way back to the others, and as a noisy group they boarded the plane.

* * *

~In England~

Once at his house, England marched up to his room and sat on his bed, placing his hands behind him and leaning backwards, staring up at the ceiling.

He didn't pick up a knife. He didn't wish for death. Instead, he realised how _light_ and how _happy_ he felt. But why? He'd gone to a meeting as he normally would, and the meeting itself went as usual, so why? Why did he feel different?

 _Oh, I know,_ he thought. _It's because I've finally realised that_ I'm not alone. _With that, I don't feel like it's me against the world. I feel like it's me_ with _the world._

Smiling, he closed his eyes, but snapped them open when someone knocked on his door. _Who's that? I wasn't expecting guests._

"Uh…come in."

"Arturo!" Italy cried as he burst in, and England watched, almost in slow motion, as his worried expression turned to a wide beam. "Thank God you didn't do _that_! Does…does that mean you're okay now?"

"'Okay'? What, in your opinion, defines 'okay'?"

Italy's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "Well…physically and mentally healthy, probably. Why?"

"Would you say I'm physically and mentally healthy?"

"Uh…yes. Of course you are! We…we cured you of your depression, right? Y-you're okay…" Italy looked like he was on the verge of tears, so England did something he rarely did; he hugged the Italian.

"If you believe I'm okay, then I am. We ourselves can't always judge whether or not we are 'okay'. An outside opinion sometimes helps a great deal."

"Well…I'm just so glad. We…we can put all of this behind us, right?"

"'Forgive and forget' is what you want to apply here, I take it? You may forgive me for what I did, but I don't think any of us will ever forget."

"You learn from your mistakes, right? We all have something to learn from this."

England nodded, but before he could reply, his phone went off with a text.

Frowning, he glanced at his phone. It was from New Zealand.

_You were right._

That was all it said, but England knew what it meant. It meant that Australia was okay. It meant that he had been at the door to greet them. It meant that the world was slowly falling back into its steady, slow rhythm. It meant that everything was once more right with the world – or as right as it could be, anyway. Lastly, it meant that England's – that _their_ lives could go back to the way they were, and a calm peace would settle over everything, until the next time that someone cries silent tears.

Until the next time that someone begs for help as they fall…fall…fall-

-and someone's there to catch them and wipe away their tears, before lifting them back to the summit.

After all, the good thing about hitting rock bottom is that the only way from there is up.

England's story was merely a drop in the ocean of suffering; but the ending was the way it always should have been. It was the right ending of the beginning.

And instead of one person, there was the entire world there to wipe away his silent tears and lift him back to the summit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: AHHHHHH, IT'S DONE!
> 
> Omg, I'm so proud of myself for finally finishing it. Are you proud of me too, reader-chan?
> 
> Okay, here we go: thank you to all who read this, for starters. It makes me happy to know that someone out there is reading my work.
> 
> Thank you to all who commented; comments are like my fuel. Getting no comments on something kinda disheartens me, but I got a lot more than I expected, so thanks!
> 
> Thank you to all who gave kudos and bookmarked because it means that there are people out there who enjoy what I write, and that means a lot.
> 
> Lastly, I hope to see you guys in the future some time, and don't forget that I'm working on another Hetalia one!
> 
> Bye~


End file.
